Parasite Hunters
by radioraheem
Summary: In the short days after the Mojave incident and before the dissolution of MIST, Rupert and Aya find the Neo Ark is not quite done with their master plan. But will Rupert's thirst for vengeance clash with agent Brea's quest for the truth?
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

Summer seemed to linger in the air, the faint humidity and chirp of the crickets all around him. August felt far away, further than the city limits and the complicated troubles of urban life. Here in the rural countryside, life was supposed to be simpler. If only things were really as they appeared, he thought grimly.

Spinning the cylinder wildly, he snapped it into place without so much as a glance. His gloved hand lingered for a moment on the barrel of the gun, cloudy eyes staring intently into the reflective surface. The rubber gripped handle felt oddly uncomfortable in his hand for the first time in a long time.

The first time he had held the monstrous pistol, it had felt like he had been missing something in his life. When he fired it for the first time, heard its deafening roar and felt the mule-like kick of it in his hands, he _knew_ that this was what he had been missing. The gaping, pie-sized wound it had left in the writhing monster only made him wish he had found it sooner. While some would recoil from such a grisly sight, he would not. No, not him. He had seen far worse in his days, in the days when the monsters came.

* * *

His long, breathless hesitation continued at the door. He could hear the blare of the television set, see its flickering light against the thin curtains. Leaning around the edge, his deadly focused eyes peered into the window. Lack of sleep had drained him, hooding his eyes with fatigue, but he remained alert. This was number four on the list. 

The list. For the past two weeks, he had lived and breathed the list. Traitors, every last one of them, he thought angrily and his grip tightened on the gun's handle. It was the anger that kept him going, he realized. The last time he had felt so angry, had been three years ago, back when they had first come…

Movement inside. He ducked back quickly, seeing a large shadow pass by the curtain. The television continued to pour out mindless noise, and he sensed that it was playing a late night infomercial. Very little was on TV at this time anyways, he thought. Not that he was one to watch it, night or day.

Footsteps. Clumsy, loud footsteps came to the window, and more faint light appeared on the faux grass lawn. Someone had pushed the curtain aside to look out. Had he been too confident and gotten sloppy? It made no difference; he knew there was no turning back now.

The lock gave way silently, the corrosive acid tube Pierce had made for him doing its job perfectly. His dark eyes took in every inch of the long hallway, scanning for sensors or alarms. The mark had been known for his dislike of high-end technology, but that wasn't to say he was above protecting his home with such devices. Then again, he had been cocky enough to slip up and make the list, so perhaps he had thrown caution into the wind long ago, without looking back.

The one story house was elegant in its simplicity, and far deeper than it had appeared from the quiet street. Little surprised him, however, as he had memorized the blueprints during the afternoon. He had expected the home to be sparsely decorated, and he had been right. The one thing that fool had done properly was live within his means. He had probably stashed the cash in an offshore account, and planned to take an early retirement.

Greed. It had taken over so many men, destroyed their lives without them even realizing it. It disgusted him, how quickly men were to betray their friends and colleagues, even endangering their own lives, for the simple promise of money. Even the monsters were above material greed; in their mindless destruction of the world around them, they at least sought only what they needed.

His socks slid quietly on the marble floor. Thankful that the floors hadn't been creaky hardwood, he had no choice but to remove his wingtips at the door to ensure a silent approach. The TV continued to boom, its echo heavy with bass as the sound reverberated throughout the house. He stalked towards the noise, his hand cannon pointed downwards but ready to fire at an instant's notice.

The glare of the TV was harsh on his eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, but he could still make out the shape of a man resting fitfully on the recliner, his head tilted slightly to the side. Rupert raised his gun and took aim.

Approaching the sleeping man, Rupert kept his handgun raised and trained on the target. Shadows danced on the wall behind him, the droning sound of the spokesman ringing in his ears. Completely focused, he stepped swiftly around the chair, his gun raised decisively.

"Don't move, Brecklin," he hissed through clenched teeth. It took everything in him to not pull the trigger then and there, faced with the knowledge that Brecklin had endangered all of MIST with his actions.

But as Rupert spoke, he sensed it was a lost cause. Brecklin's eyes were vacant, his mouth agape. Reaching out with a cautious hand, Rupert checked for the pulse and found none. The man was dead, and done recently. Just like the others.

The lights came on, suddenly blinding, and Rupert threw his arms over his head in an attempt to block the flood. He staggered, feeling something hard hit him in the chest, something with a hard edge that forced the air from his lungs. Collapsing to the floor, he felt the edge of the hardbound book that had been thrown at him, and he looked up to see a familiar, smiling face.

"Long time no see, Rupert," said the woman slyly, crouched by an open window.

"Damn it, Risa," he spat. "So it _was_ you…"

"Beating you to the punch, you mean? Sorry, but you know how important cleanup detail is. Not to mention how…satisfying it is."

Rupert tried to level his gun at her, his lungs still struggling to breath.

"Aw, you're not mad at me, are you," she asked, her voice child-like and mocking. "I was just doing what you were going to, after all…"

"I needed them alive," he said, even though it went against everything he believed. He had killed the first traitor, barely giving him a chance to surrender, and the other two had been executed by Risa before he could reach them. Still, he knew that he needed information, not a relief to his anger, and had to have at least one of the traitors captured alive.

"You shouldn't dawdle so long, then," she replied, looking calmly at her nails. Despite her casual demeanor, she kept him constantly in her sights. She had improved much over such a short time, he thought. She was barely a young woman before, and now she was a dangerous assassin.

The change was reflected little in her face. She still appeared to be young, her short blonde hair cropped up above her head and sculpted into wavy spikes. Her once brilliant blue eyes were now cold and merciless, the azure hues icy. Had Rupert not known any better, he wouldn't have thought that most of her body had been replaced with cybernetic parts, lightweight steels stronger than any flesh or bone.

"I don't need advice from a half-human freak," he hissed, steadying the gun.

"I see you still prefer the Maeda special," she chuckled. "Always the lone cowboy, eh, Rupert…?"

"You're one to talk," he said, and something must have tensed in his voice, for she leapt from the window, upwards to the roof, her lightning quick footsteps pattering across the ceiling before he could fire.

"Damn it," he whispered, rubbing the ache in his ribs. She had probably bruised a couple with that cheap shot of hers. Still, she had a chance to finish him then and there, but didn't. Why…?

He heard her sudden shrill laughter from the roof, and he felt the hackles on the back of his neck stand up. Something was wrong here. He looked over at Brecklin's inert body, which suddenly began to convulse. The corpse fell to the floor, thrashing violently. The skin around his fingers began to bloat and expand, cracking and finally peeling off to reveal dark talons beneath the carapace. Outwards jutted his lower jaw, as the burgeoning ridge in his back tore the tattered nightshirt completely from his bulging body. A soundless roar came from its gaping mouth, the murky eyes of the creature taking in the well-dressed black man standing before it.

"Aw, hell," murmured Rupert, the gun wavering ever so slightly in his hand.

The first shot found its mark, just as the second and as surely as the third. Three rounds of Mongoose rounds, all center mass, and still the creature continued to withstand the barrage. In shocked disbelief, Rupert hesitated for a moment as the monster charged towards him, bowling over furniture in its wake. Its head rammed squarely into Rupert's hip as he tried to dive away, the force sending him spinning in a mess into the corner. Flying into a bookshelf, heavy volumes began to pour down on him, burying him in their endlessly vast knowledge. Books were really getting to him today, he thought, sweeping aside the mounting pile before him.

The creature turned its head, seeming to have lost him somehow, when Rupert saw the glitter of something metallic on the creature's ear. Just like the one Aya had found on that woman in the shop, he thought, taking careful aim with his Maeda again.

The gun kicked in his hand like a wild stallion, but the round flew true, striking and obliterating the right side of the creature's head. Chunks of mushy brain matter filled the air, the bloody lumps seeming to hang in the air for a moment before falling wetly to the ground. The monster finally crumpled, its long legs taking a few steps forward before collapsing altogether.

At his feet, the creature's shape began to change once again, returning to the human form of one Agent Brecklin. He allowed himself a sigh of relief, knowing in the back of his mind that this was just the beginning.

* * *


	2. Hunter's License

_Hunting License_

The morning dawn came relentlessly, forcing its luminance over the horizon and into the sleepy town of Hillmansville. Rupert awoke to the light in his cell, the dew of the fall morning chilling him down to his bones. Stretching atop the dingy cot, he was thankful for even the few hours of sleep he had been granted.

The small town cops had questioned him briefly, refusing to believe the validity of his MIST ID badge and deciding to lock him away for the night. He had been denied use of the phone and legal counsel. This was no surprise to him; in the eyes of those officers, he had murdered Agent Brecklin, a well-regarded figure in the community and especially in the eyes of the police force, who were in awe of such a high ranking officer in the Bureau. He felt no need to disclose the truth behind the man. After all, Brecklin hadn't always been a bad man.

Still, he had rights, just like any citizen or criminal in the system. He knew that last night was not the time for struggle, and so he had simply said nothing, asserting his right to remain silent. A newspaper reporter had come by just before dawn, somehow learning of the story and seeking a scoop. The officers had turned him away rudely, denying Rupert the chance to have the reporter make contact with his field office.

He rubbed the last bit of fatigue from his eyes, pressing his shaven head against the thin bars to see the clock on the nearby desk. He was still angry that the officers had insisted on confiscating his personal watch, but that could be dealt with later. It was just after 6 AM, so he had slept for nearly three hours. Plenty of time to bounce back. Time to rattle some cages.

A young officer in his twenties responded, his hand resting nervously on the butt of his holstered pistol. He approached the cell slowly, his apprehensive eyes never leaving Rupert, still dressed in his immaculate suit and tie.

"W-w-what is it," he stammered, trying to sound authoritative.

"I want my phone call now," said Rupert calmly.

"You'll have to wait till the captain comes back," replied the young man. "They're tossing your hotel room right now, so you'll get your lawyer soon enough."

Rupert slammed his hands against the bars, making the young cop jump back.

"Goddammit, you country bumpkins are violating my rights," yelled Rupert. Seeing the raw terror in the boy's eyes, Rupert suspected that another approach might work better.

"Look," he began, this time quietly. "You realize you're violating the Bill of Rights, right? By denying me due process and legal representation, you're jeopardizing your entire case against me. Don't you see that?"

"Th-the captain never said anything about that," he said nervously. "He would know; he's been captain for over ten years."

Rupert scoffed, seeing how impressed the boy was by this minor feat.

"You ever watch Law & Order, kid? You see how quick a judge is to throw out a case when the Bill of Rights is violated? All I'm asking for is one little phone call; the phone's right there," he pointed, down the long hallway.

"I dunno," said the boy, but Rupert could see him wavering with doubt.

"Sometimes, important men like your captain don't sweat the small details. They're big picture kind of guys; they need detail-oriented people like you to stay afloat."

The boy's chest swelled with pride at the words, and he nodded with a distant look of appreciation in his eyes.

"I suppose I can drag the phone over here," said the boy.

"Good," said Rupert with a smile. "I'll even reimburse you for the long distance when I get my wallet back."

* * *

"Again, we apologize for this…misunderstanding, Agent Broderick," seethed the captain.

"You were just doing your job," replied Rupert magnanimously. "As well as you possibly could…given your experience."

"Of course we are ready to make any restitutions in light of the…mistake," offered one of the officers, under the glaring eye of the captain.

"I'll settle for my 'toy badge' back," answered Rupert, remembering the captain's disbelieving comments from the night before. "You all can keep your toy badges, though," he added, staring the captain full in the face.

"Watch yourself…boy," he fumed, the last part said under his breath as he turned to walk away. Rupert grinned; he'd had experiences with cops like the captain in other parts of the South, and it pleased him to no end to watch them lose their cherished power with a single phone call.

"Thanks again," Rupert said to the young officer who had given him the chance at the phone. "If anything should happen to you because of this mess, call me," he added quietly, handing the young man a business card.

"Thank you, sir," said the young officer, still in awe at the morning's revelation. "Your friend is waiting outside for you."

The noon sun was high in the sky, its brilliant light warming the countryside. Trees swayed in the light breeze as Rupert began his walk down the white stone steps of the police station, feeling the burning eyes of the captain on his back. He checked his watch, not for the time, but for the familiarity of his most cherished possession sitting on his wrist. It had been a present from his late wife, the last she had given him.

"Sure you're cut out for this kind of work," asked the woman leaning against the hood of a dark green GTO. Her short hair was ruffled, but a few long strands of blonde hair fell about her youthful face in such a perfectly haphazard way that it shouldn't have been accidental, but he knew damn well that it was. She was simply beautiful, with or without the effort.

"Aya," he said grumpily. "You sure took your time getting here."

"Hey, I had to get a whole new car," she replied with a faint smile. "Besides, it's not like you were going anywhere…"

"I thought they were sending Pierce," he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Pierce found his true love yesterday," shrugged Aya, as she started up the car.

"What, you finally gave him the time of day?"

She laughed lightly, the kind of laugh that held no ill will towards even one's most hated enemies. It was like the joyful laugh of a young child, which fit her appearance. As beautiful as she was, Aya had the appearance of a young twenty something. Far too young for Rupert's tastes, but ideal for a horn ball like Pierce, who had made a habit of fawning over her.

"No, I introduced him to an old scientist friend of mine," she replied, still smiling. "Name's Maeda…sort of like your gun."

"I like her already."

Aya laughed again, this time from her gut, nearly doubling over with laughter. Rupert reached for the steering wheel to settle it, but he didn't need to bother; Aya was, as always, under control.

"You're in for a surprise."

"So what's with the good mood," asked Rupert, curious. He had seen her happy only a few times, rarely ever this pleased. "Were Pierces' affections really that bothersome?"

"No, nothing like that," she insisted. "Just had a really rough spot the last couple of days…barely got out of it alive."

"I know," said Rupert gruffly. "Jodie briefed me on your situation."

"As she did me," replied Aya, getting down to business. "How's the hunt going?"

"Not well. Three of the four targets had already been…assassinated before I could arrive."

"Any clues as to by whom," she asked, her eyes on the road but her concentration wholly on his words. Again Rupert had to remind himself that she wasn't the young woman she appeared to be. She was one of the few field agents in MIST that he considered completely capable and reliable. Still, he didn't trust their surroundings; you never knew who was listening.

"No idea," he lied, staring out the window as the countryside flew by.

"Probably the same people paying them off in the first place," said Aya, looking over her shoulder as she switched lanes. "To shut them up as to their identities."

"Most likely," agreed Rupert, sensing that Aya possibly knew more than he did about the whole affair.

"Anything unusual regarding the MO's," she asked, and he was certain then that she knew something.

"I missed the last target's assassin by only a few minutes," he replied. "And he had one of those remote transmitters you found in the Akropolis Towers."

"On his ear?"

"Yes, on his right ear."

"Any idea if he was wearing it before he died, or if it was attached postmortem?"

"I can't be sure; there wasn't much left in the way of forensic evidence."

"Not with that hand cannon you carry…"

"Agent Brea," began Rupert, patting the comforting bulge under his left arm. "This 'hand cannon' has saved my life more times than I can count. No other handgun has the stopping power and accuracy of the Maeda special. Forensic evidence is secondary to our survival."

Aya seemed to think over his words for a moment. "Ever consider the Wildey .454? It's got an 18 inch barrel extension, and comes with a rifle stock to steady it."

"I'm not going to discuss my gun preferences with you."

"What, too personal," jeered Aya, casting him a humored glance. "Just think how badassed you'd look with one of those bad boys…it worked for Charles Bronson, too."

"Drop it, Aya," he said, annoyed. "I suspect the device was implanted after death, as it would have been unnecessary to kill him with such a device already in place."

"But it was able to transform him even after death, huh," she said thoughtfully, her mind wandering. "That's not good…"

"A master of understatement as always, Agent Brea."

"It's my specialty," she added. "How many more names are on the list?"

"I must attend to a few more things first," he said, directing her to the ramp that led to his temporary lodgings.

* * *

The hotel was aged, but well kept. Its long string of owners had kept it running for well over a century, back when the area still employed slave labor at the nearby plantations. Despite its shady history, Rupert had taken a room up at the quiet hotel, ignoring the strange looks and sideways glances he got from the locals for his neatly pressed designer suits and clean shaven head. 

He tore the police caution tape away with a grunt of disgust, noting how poorly the local officers had secured the scene. Most of his luggage had been taken as evidence, and returned to him earlier in the day, resting securely in the trunk of Aya's car. But what the police hadn't taken, they had tossed to the floor or ripped up. It appeared more likely that burglars had gone through the place, and with a vengeance.

"This looks personal," remarked Aya from behind him, standing up on her toes to see over his shoulder.

"Everything in this type of town is personal," grumbled Rupert as he walked into the room to survey the damage. He couldn't believe they had taken it this far.

"Goddamn, look what ya' brought upon me, boy," cursed the hotel owner, standing in the threshold of the door. "This is what I get for bein' kind to yer people," spat the chunky middle aged man. Noticing Aya leaning against the closet door, his attitude changed, his eyes flicking suspiciously back and forth between the two people in the room. "I don't abide none of this type of monkey business," he added, visibly disgusted at some thought of his.

Aya and Rupert looked at each other for a moment, before Aya burst out laughing.

"Wait, you mean you think…Rupert…and I…? Haha!"

"Sorry, but you know how you city folk can be sometimes," apologized the owner, relieved. "Cross breeding and all…"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Aya, still having trouble breathing from her laughter. "But you know how you local country folk can be sometimes," she said, walking towards the door. "Close minded pieces of gutter trash and all," she added, brushing the astonished owner aside.

Rupert followed her, pausing to stare the owner in the face so intensely that the man cowered.

"Send the repair bill to the police station," he called out as he walked towards the car. "They'll be expecting it."

* * *

"So, how many other names on the list," she asked again. 

"…Are you sure this car is clean?"

"Pierce washed and waxed it only ten hours ago," she quipped.

"I meant for bugs."

"He and I each did a sweep for transmitters," she replied. "It's safe to talk."

"Oh, ok," he said, but he wasn't entirely convinced. After all, _he_ hadn't swept the car for bugs.

"So…?"

"There's ten more leads, but six of them are 'maybes' at best," he answered, deciding to trust in their skills. "I got a feeling about one of those six, though. I knew him in training."

"Not a fan, I take it?"

"He was one devious son of a bitch. Cheated every step of the way. Stole from roommates, sabotaged other students' projects…"

"Doesn't sound like someone they'd let into the Bureau or MIST."

"His father is an important man in Washington."

"Aren't they all…?"

"He moved up far too fast in the Bureau. As cunning as he was, he wasn't that smart. He must've had help from the 'outside'."

"Just because he rode daddy's coattails, it doesn't make him a traitor."

"It doesn't help his cause either, does it?"

"I suppose not…how has the hunt been going otherwise?"

"You didn't read the report?"

"No, it's been classified."

"That shouldn't be…"

"You're telling me. I've already been disciplined twice for trying to get into files I apparently no longer have access to."

"Of course someone like you wouldn't let something like that set you back, though, am I right?"

She grinned in response.

"It seems the higher ups want all of this business wiped away."

"Well, it does make them look bad, after all."

"What doesn't? Those guys are idiots."

"They might be the ones who are one step ahead of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I…I saw Risa at Brecklin's. She was the one who offed him," admitted Rupert.

"What?! Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I wasn't sure it was safe to speak here."

"Jesus, Rupert, do you realize what this means…?"

"I do," he said quietly.

Though mind reading was never one of her powers, she said exactly what he was thinking at that moment.

"MIST is done for."

* * *

_Note: I actually started this fanfic about a year ago, over a few days, and lost it in the shuffle. I was really into the games then (first time I had played through them), so please forgive any inconsistencies with the PE universe. Anyways, I thought I'd post it here because I love some of the character dynamics. The character of Rupert with everyone else, particularly. I thought of him as having a very Delroy Lindo-vibe to him, but angrier. I tried to put a different spin on Aya too, from my usual leading ladies. Hope you like it._


	3. A Drive

_Chapter 2_

"A little girl, huh," Rupert said after Aya had filled him in on the rest of the details from her adventures in Dryfield.

"Yeah, they're putting her into the system for now," said Aya wistfully.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?"

"Of course," replied Aya, taken aback by such an obvious question. "She is my flesh and blood, after all. Could you imagine losing your—" Aya stopped, realizing what she was about to say.

"I'm sorry, Rupert," she said sincerely. "I wasn't thinking at all…"

"It's ok," he said quietly, his eyes locked on something far in the distance. "I'm over it."

Aya glanced at him skeptically, going so far as to open her mouth and say something before she thought better of it. Instead, she returned her focus to the dark road ahead, the highway empty save their speeding car. Both agents had agreed to drive back to DC, where Aya had recently finished briefing the head of the FBI of her findings. At least on the road, in the confines of their vehicle, they were safe to talk.

The west coast branch of MIST was being audited by the Bureau, every file and case examined twice over with a fine-toothed comb. The government had locked down the offices, placing some of the higher ranked officers in guarded isolation to prevent an information leak. Others had been kept under strict surveillance; these agents knew very little and weren't as big a risk in the eyes of the Bureau.

Aya, Pierce, and Jodie had been transported to the east coast for protection as well as their testimony. Turned out Jodie had been smart enough to gather evidence of Baldwin's activities before he could destroy it, and she had done so with the clock ticking. Pierce, too, found his way into Baldwin's computer files, duplicating and uploading them directly into the Bureau's server.

The three had been set up for protective custody, but they decided to spend their time tying up the loose ends of the case. Dr. Maeda had come to visit, and had hit it off with Pierce right away, the two discussing the implications of neo-mitochondria on a global scale. The two had decided to present their findings around the world, to all the major governments and power players. In the meantime, Pierce assisted in setting up Aya as a temporary field agent for the Bureau, himself working as a technical consultant.

"And what about that Kyle fellow," Rupert asked suddenly. "What happened to him?"

"I-I don't know," replied Aya. "I think he's ok, though."

"You sound pretty concerned about him, too," noted Rupert, seeing Aya suddenly redden.

"He saved me a few times," she insisted. "That's all."

"Mmm hmm," yawned Rupert. He didn't know how Aya could do it; she had driven down without resting, and was now driving back the other 600 miles. She had spent nearly twenty hours driving over a twenty-four hour period. Was it the mitochondria that kept her going? He had often wondered as to the extent of her abilities, but had never felt close enough to ask. She, like him, had insisted on working on the field alone. He had assumed she had done so for fear of others judging her based on her powers. His reasons were no less personal, but their supervisor, Baldwin, had been happy to oblige.

He blinked tiredly, his lack of sleep catching up to him again. Three hours was enough when he was in the field, but there was no adrenaline to keep him going tonight. Only the smooth purr of the car, the warmth of the heater on his legs, the sound of the road…

Before he could stop himself, he was fast asleep.

--

The highway was all but abandoned at this hour of night; even truckers were a rare sight. The GTO's engine continued to purr softly, the well-oiled machine handling beautifully under Aya's capable hands. She had long held an affection for classic muscle cars, their velvet-smooth contours and monstrous carbines.

Her last one had been destroyed a few days earlier, a car she had labored long and hard to restore. Pierce had been quite helpful in the task, as he usually was, but it had wholly been her car. Every piece of that car had been bought by her, installed by her, and serviced by her. She had sweat blood over that car, and it had been torn apart by a bunch of monsters. Though she wasn't by nature a violent person, she couldn't help but grin at her memory of those beasts, and what she and Kyle had done to them.

The dashboard transmitter flickered to life, and Aya grabbed the transceiver instantly, hoping to cut off the noise before it woke Rupert. Fat chance of that, she thought, hearing him snore loudly.

"Agent Brea," she said into the device.

"Aya!" squealed Pierce's familiar voice. "Where are you?"

"We just got through West Virginia," she replied. "Why, what's up?"

"The Feds…they're shutting everything down," he said, his voice quivering. "They say it's temporary, and for the investigation, but they're closing all MIST cases and putting them under lock and key!"

"Sounds like a vacation to me," joked Aya, pushing the worry to the back of her mind.

"They're also throwing out our grand jury testimony!"

"What…? Why would they do something stupid like that?"

"Something about pressure from the White House. There are people even saying that Baldwin might get a Presidential pardon!"

Aya nearly dropped the speaker, her shock so great.

"Aya…are you there," asked Pierce, worried more than usual.

"I'm here, Pierce," she said, her thoughts racing. What was going on?

"Maeda is making an appeal now with some of the Justices. We've been digging through some of the information that Baldwin sold, and what you recovered…"

"You shouldn't be doing that," warned Aya, knowing full well that Pierce wasn't going to listen, even to her.

"Heh, well…you know me," he said, and she could feel his goofy grin over the radio waves. "But there's some serious stuff a brewin'," he added quietly.

"Tell me when we get there," she said. "We should be there in about three hours."

"Hurry, Aya," said Pierce urgently, and she knew there was none of his usual infatuation behind those pleading words. Something was indeed brewing.

--  
_Note: I know this chapter is a bit on the short side, but I promise the next update (which will be soon) will be much larger._ _This section was kind of a guilty pleasure for me, talking about the car and what not. Hope you like it; I love GTO's. _


	4. Old Faces

_Chapter 3_

"Something's definitely rotten in Denmark," she said dramatically. But her words were met with a curious stare.

"Den…mark," said Dr. Maeda, confused by Jodie's reference. "I don't understand…"

"Sorry, it's from a play," she said, worried that she was taking too much of his time. Maeda obviously had a better grasp of what was going on than anyone else, and yet no one would let him access any of the collected information. So instead he sat with her in the hotel bar, sipping at his Coca Cola.

"Ah, I see," he said, scratching his ruffled hair. Jodie wondered when the good doctor had last combed his hair, and was thinking early summer as she took a sip from her orange juice. She had no idea how he could handle sugar so early in the morning.

"I still don't see why they won't let you into the archives," she whined, and noticed him staring intently at her again. Pierce had told her it was because of the language barrier, that Maeda was better at learning words through their formation on the lips, but Jodie had her own suspicions that Maeda was simply a pervert. She had known deaf children who stared less.

"They very direct men," nodded Maeda, straightening his glasses. "They know what they want."

"What's that even mean," she asked, put out. Pierce had dumped Maeda on her for a few hours, and she was already regretting the agreement.

"Strong forces at play," he said ominously. "Very strong; they will need preparation and focus to survive."

"Like what," she asked curiously. This was finally getting good.

"Mitochondria evolves," he replied politely. "Not just in a few, but every person. We are seeing the greatest jump in its evolution in only one generation's time. Before, that only affected a few…Aya and Maya, thanks to those experiments. Now, we are beginning to see it affect others…like you and me. Neo-mitochondria will be a thing of the past if we continue on this road."

"You're saying that…everyone will be affected…?"

"If Mr. Pierce and I are right, then…yes," he nodded.

"But how can a person change so much in just one life?"

"Humans evolve everyday. Our immune systems adapt to new viruses, our blood stream flows faster when we get ill. As large systems, we change very little, mostly on the outside. It is within ourselves that the greatest changes take place."

"That's very philosophical," said Jodie admiringly, to which Maeda beamed. "But you're talking about sicknesses and diseases…what about normal, everyday life?"

"For such a drastic change in ordinary humans, there would have to be a catalyst, like a pandemic, on a scale that the world has never seen before, to trigger this sudden an evolutionary step…really more of a leap, actually."

"And if not…?"

"Maybe nothing," he shrugged. "It is impossible to say."

"You sounded pretty sure a moment ago."

"A scientist makes his hypothesis first, finds evidence later."

"It's a rather ambitious theory anyways," interrupted Pierce, sliding into a seat between the two.

"Pierce," said Jodie, annoyed as she motioned to her watch. "About time."

"Had to make an important call," he said with the hint of a smile on his face.

"Only one person can make you smile like that," ribbed Jodie. "How's Aya doing?"

"Ay—Agent Brea is fine, Jodie," he replied, taking a professional tone to his voice. "She and Rupert should be here in a couple hours."

"Did you find anything else out," asked Maeda, his own ears picking up suddenly at Aya's name. Seeing the glint in his eye, Jodie wondered with a sigh if there were any man out there not in some way infatuated with Aya. Probably Rupert, she thought, and that was it.

"Nothing we could've said over the phone," whispered Pierce, digging through the bowl of salty pretzels.

"What about Eve," inquired Maeda, slurping the last of his Coke noisily through a straw.

"No word on her," replied Pierce sadly. "She's still under observation at the hospital. After the preliminary tests are completed, she'll be shipped off to a temporary foster home, I bet."

"That's terrible," said Jodie. "Aya will be crushed."

The two men nodded in agreement, keeping their thoughts on the matter to themselves.

"Any word on Baldwin," asked Jodie.

"He went into the Director's office two hours ago, and never came out. I set up an 'eye in the sky', but nothing yet."

"You and those stupid hidden cameras, Pierce," said Jodie. She had once suspected that Pierce had set up a couple of them in the women's locker room, but he had made them so small that they were almost impossible to detect.

"A peeping tom never leaves home without it," he laughed.

Maeda frowned, furrowing his brow. "A peeping what?"

"Never mind," said Jodie, certain that Maeda and Pierce were more alike than they were letting on.

--

The interrogation room was far nicer than he would ever have suspected. The seating was soft and accommodating, the climate perfectly set with generous natural lighting. In the back of his mind, however, he knew this wasn't an everyday interrogation. This was more of a business transaction.

"Not bad digs, eh," asked the agent, motioning for him to sit.

"I've seen better," shrugged Baldwin, taking the proffered seat.

"My name is Agent Donaldson," said the agent, bowing slightly. "To my left is our transcriber, Ms. Seals, and those two agents by the door are two very skilled men sent to ensure your safety."

Baldwin nodded to the agent, smiling slightly at the woman, and completely ignored the two agents at his back. He had never respected mindless grunts. Donaldson was a bit husky, his large size betrayed by his nasally voice. He was of a friendly disposition, however, perfectly suited to this kind of work. There was no need for the 'bad cop' mentality; his suspect had already been broken, and was all too willing to spill his guts in exchange for his freedom.

"Anytime you're ready, sir," signaled Donaldson.

"Where should I start," wondered Baldwin aloud.

"Tell us a little about your setup, the transfer of money and so forth," suggested Donaldson, waving the pencil in his hand.

"I was wired money to an offshore account weekly, with vastly varying amounts of cash. Sometimes it would be less than a thousand dollars, other times well over five thousand. In the end, the monthly totals would equal about ten thousand. I, in turn, installed a macro into our system database that would record any data transmitted via email, fax, and so on, copying the file into a disk cache that I could send to my…benefactors, in addition to whatever pertinent files I deemed necessary to transmit manually."

"How long back do these payments go," asked Donaldson, flipping through a folder that Baldwin knew to contain his finances.

"Over two years," replied Baldwin without batting an eye; he had nothing to fear. These people weren't here to judge him. As far as he was concerned, once he walked out of that door, he would be a free man, given a new identity, a new life.

"And where did these payments come from?"

"Honestly, I couldn't tell you. There were always different accounts or companies wiring the money."

"And who were you selling the information to? Who had paid to build the Neo-Ark?"

"It was another dummy corporation; I checked them out on my own, of course, and found out that they didn't really exist other than on paper. It was a shadow—"

Before he could go on, he felt a breath of movement on the back of his neck, a whispered disturbance of the air behind him. He wheeled in his seat, looking around him.

"What is it," asked the agent, looking up from his file.

"Did you feel…something in here? Just a moment ago?"

"It was probably just the air vent."

"No, this wasn't air. It was—it was…"

"What," asked Donaldson, annoyed by the interruption. "What was it?"

"It was someone's…breath," replied Baldwin. "I'm certain of it…!"

"Listen, Mr. Baldwin…you're being setup in witness protection in exchange for the information you're going to give us. If you try to hold out now—"

"Listen, you stupid bastard!" yelled Baldwin, slamming his fist against the table as he leapt to his feet, pulling at his hair. "I'm here to tell you everything! But those people…you don't understand…!"

"This facility is the most secure installation in the western hemisphere, Mr. Baldwin," said Donaldson patiently. "There are over a thousand expertly-trained men and women here with the sole purpose of protecting the people within…the walls can withstand anything save a nuclear strike. And even then, we're far enough underground to survive that, with supplies to last us into the next century. You're panicking over nothing."

His words seemed to somehow calm Baldwin, who reluctantly returned to his seat.

"You're right, you're right," agreed Baldwin, running his hand coolly through his disheveled hair.

"Now, where were we…?"

"I was telling you about the company that funded the Neo-Ark's construction…"

"Yes…tell us all about it…"

--

The GTO tore through the city's busy streets, leaping off a low hill before meeting the ground roughly.

"Jesus, Aya," yelled Rupert, hanging onto the top of the car for dear life. "Slow down!"

In response, she jackknifed the car through the intersection, dropping the clutch and accelerating wildly in the opposite direction.

"What are you—? Why are we going back that way!?"

"Short cut," she replied through gritted teeth. The accelerator was plowing well past 80 mph in a 35 mph zone, and Rupert was certain as anything in his life that someone was going to die, and soon.

"There are people on the streets—Aya!"

Weaving the car in and out of the oncoming traffic, she brazenly raced on the wrong side of the road at full throttle. Rupert couldn't help but think about her lack of sleep, and that it had somehow caused her to become quite clearly insane.

"Do you at least have a siren for this thing," he asked, bracing both hands against the dashboard.

"Why," she asked in response, pulling the emergency brake as they whipped around a corner. Rubber screeching in his ears, he couldn't quite make out the rest of what she had said as she turned the wheel sharply into the turn.

"Where are we going," he asked resignedly, double-checking his seatbelt. He knew nothing he said would make a difference to Aya's frenetic pace, just as he knew nothing she said would alter him.

"To see an old friend."

--

The session closed, Baldwin let out a sigh of relief. The other people in the room seemed to agree with this notion, but probably could have gone on for many more hours. As it was, they had spent nearly four hours in the room, the questions coming and going until he felt like his head was about to burst.

Agent Donaldson was gathering up his things, securing the recording in an enforced alloy briefcase. It was more of a safe than anything, two combination locks and a slot for a data encrypted key device. Noting this, Baldwin tucked the information away before turning his attention to the session's stenographer.

Ms. Seals was attractive in a bookish sort of way, her short brown hair tucked behind her ears with cloudy green eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. She couldn't have been more than 30, her face still surprisingly innocent. Baldwin was by no means a pervert like other powerful men his age, but he appreciated beauty wherever he saw it.

The two agents at the door exited to secure the hallway, leaving him alone with her and Donaldson, who was also already at the door with his items. Approaching her, Baldwin noticed she wore no wedding band. Not that it would have stopped him anyways.

"Ms. Seals, was it…?"

She fixed her crooked glasses in such a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yes," she replied timidly, before she turned those endless green eyes on him. "What is it?" Her voice was somehow stronger now.

"I was just—ah, you know," fumbled Baldwin, taken aback by her tone. "I was wondering…"

"Sorry," she said coldly. "I don't date scummy rats."

"B-but I—"

"Did what you had to save your ass, right? Don't think doing the right thing once erases all the horrible things you did for all those years. And for what…a little bit of money? Men like you—people like you—make me sick. You think a fancy suit and hair plugs makes everyone around you forget what a sleazy piece of shit you are. You make me sick," she repeated, her eyes leveled at him the whole time.

"I-I'm sorry you feel that way," he stammered out. Turning to the door, he saw Donaldson's smirk, the familiar way in which he touched the small of Ms. Seals back as she exited the room.

"Women," he shrugged, but hiding his pleasure.

"Bitches," spat Baldwin. "Every last one of them," he added, storming out. But when he reached the door, he felt a gust of wind rush past him, slamming the door shut with the two men still inside. The lock snapped down.

"What the—?"

"Oh my god…they're here," cried Baldwin, digging his fingers into his temples. "They're here for me!"

"Shut up, Baldwin," ordered Donaldson, his pleasantness all but gone. And why wouldn't it be; he had the information he needed. Reaching into his jacket, the agent removed an automatic pistol, its barrel long and ugly. From the other side of the door, the men could hear Ms. Seals pounding on the metallic surface.

"What's going on, Neil," she yelled, and then to someone else, "Use the key, you idiot!"

"It's ok, Christine," he said calmly. "I think it was just—"

Before he could finish, he felt something clamp along the back of his neck, the cold icy grip of something irresistibly strong and forceful. This same force lifted him up, the metallic corners of something sharp digging into his spine. His fingers went numb, the pistol skidding to the floor. The next sensation he felt was the claws of his assailant tearing into his spine, ripping his throat out from the back of his neck. He was dead before he hit the floor.

"Oh my god," wept Baldwin, finding a desperate hope when he saw the gun. Diving for it, he grasped it in shaking fingers, sweeping the barrel in blind arcs across the room as he backed into a corner. "You stay the hell back!"

His eyes seemed to lose focus when the attacker came into view. He had seen the trail of blood along some sort of appendage at first, not realizing that the rest was seemingly invisible. But that was impossible. Only when she flickered into view did he realize that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

"Hi," she said. He recognized her immediately; she had been an agent directly under his supervision a couple of years ago, but he could remember nothing else about her. "Not having much luck with the ladies today, huh," she asked, gazing intently at the blood dripping down her arm.

She was dressed in a hybrid of the Golems' uniforms, with less armor but heavier ordinance. The dark purple of the suit contrasted sharply with the metallic sheen of her light armor. Ghostly pale skin, her lips were almost invisible. Even her once blue eyes were tinted white.

"Don't you recognize me, boss," she asked, paying no heed to his leveled handgun.

Before he could answer, the steel door in at her side swung open, the two agents charging in with their weapons drawn. Grasping each of their weapons, she pulled the men off balance, spinning in a wild arc to eject a claw-like weapon from her wrist. The blade met the first agent at his midsection, tearing open his stomach and spilling out greasy entrails. The other agent she grabbed with her free hand, and he suddenly screamed in agony, pawing desperately at his face. As she released her hand, the agent's face was melting, the soft flesh dripping down his chest as he fell.

"Not bad, eh," she asked, turning back to Baldwin. But the gun in his hand was already blazing, the barrel launching hot lead at the assassin. Though Baldwin didn't realize it, he had been screaming as he emptied the clip into her.

"Not good enough," he spat, getting to his feet. He had been an excellent marksman in his day, and he was confident each of the rounds had found their way into his would-be assassin. She lay crumpled on the ground amidst the dead agents. Baldwin only took his eyes off her once, to nod to the sobbing Ms. Seals. Approaching her cautiously, he reached for one of the other fallen agents' gun, an M93 burst handgun. Standard issue for MIST, it was a gun he was familiar with.

He released a short burst into the fallen woman, her inert body shuddering as each round met her. Another three shot burst and he was certain she was dead.

"Go get help," he yelled at Ms. Seals, but she was kneeling by Agent Donaldson, sobbing as she held his bloodied face in her hands. Baldwin crouched at her side, about to express words of consolation, when he saw the soft blue glow emanating from the corpse he had just poured over twenty rounds into.

Risa rose slowly to her feet, her eyes burning with a distinctly blue energy, the likes of which Baldwin had only seen once before in his life.

"E-eve…?" he stammered, shaking. Sensing the grave danger, he shoved the weeping woman through the door, hearing the sound of pounding footsteps down the hallway: reinforcements. He doubted it would make a difference if his suspicions were correct.

--

"Aya," he said happily. "Good to see you again!"

"Same here, Mr. Douglas," she said, stepping into his hotel room. He had followed the trio a bit late out to the east coast, first securing the rest of his collection to prevent ATF from finding his more…dubious items. Though he had done the job well, there were still a few questions for him to answer, and so he had joined the exodus.

"Still dressing for fashion shows, huh," he noted disapprovingly, but she could see the flicker of playful joyfulness in his eye.

"Only for you, Mr. Douglas," she winked, kneeling to scratch Flint behind his ears. "And you too, of course, Flint," she added, to the dog's own joyful bark.

"And who's that hiding in the shadows there," asked Mr. Douglas.

"Oh, sorry," apologized Aya sheepishly. "This here is my friend, Mr. Rupert Broderick."

Rupert stepped into the room with a slight nod, sizing up Mr. Douglas in the same motion. Flint growled at the man, and softened only when Aya rubbed under his neck.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Broderick," said Mr. Douglas, extending his hand. They briefly shook, the room filled with an awkward silence.

"Well, don't everyone talk at once," quipped Aya, getting to her feet.

"I'm just trying to figure out why we're here, Aya," said Rupert. "Weren't we on the way to do something important?"

"Don't worry, Rupert," she assured him. "This is something right up your alley…both your alleys, now that I think about it."

"What is it, Aya," asked Mr. Douglas, his curiosity piqued. Both men looked at her questioningly.

"Guns," she answered. "From what I've been hearing, all our testimony is being tossed out, the case closed. If that's the case, the MIST department will no doubt be shut down as well, our privileges and weapons taken away. I wanted to make sure that if that happened, we could count on you to be our, eh, supplier."

"I don't know," said Mr. Douglas. "The ATF has been coming down quite hard on me since the whole incident…"

"And Rupert here has contacts in that agency," offered Aya. "He can make the pressure vanish, right, Rupert?"

"I don't know about 'vanish'," he said gruffly.

"You know, I did see a set of lovely Maeda mods in Mr. Douglas' inventory…"

"Really," asked Rupert, trying to cover his sudden interest with a feigned cough. "I mean…I've been looking for some of those."

"I've got quite a few, actually," said Mr. Douglas, sensing a sales opportunity. "A long barrel for increased long-range accuracy…an extended handle grip to lessen recoil…a raised sight for faster aiming…a tighter grooved cylinder for a faster rate of fire…"

Aya nudged Rupert playfully at each enhancement, and he couldn't deny that those were all things he sought to improve.

"Ok, ok," he finally agreed. "I can reach my contact this afternoon, but I can't promise that it'll all disappear…there will still be an inquiry, and you'll probably still have to make an appearance in court."

"I can handle that," said Mr. Douglas. "As I'm sure you can handle my _very_ fair prices."

Before Rupert could voice his objections, Aya was pushing him out the door, profusely thanking Mr. Douglas. Flint barked once more at her, and she flashed him one of her winning smiles to quiet him.

"_Prices_? That guy is—"

"A devout businessman," interjected Aya. "His equipment is worth the cash, though. Top of the line stuff."

"And 100 percent illegal," he grunted.

"Now, now," said Aya, trying to calm him down, before thinking of something. "Well, maybe 90 percent illegal…but who are we to judge?"

--


	5. A view from the top

_A view from the top_

In a quiet, oval-shaped office set far back from the bustling street of Pennsylvania Avenue, a light knocking came at the door. The man seated at the table looked up from his work, a pile of file folders containing budget proposals and other such information that would have boggled the mind of any ordinary American.

"Mr. President," began the official. "I apologize for the interruption, but there is something of vital importance that demands your attention."

"What is it, Perkins," asked the President, setting down his pen and closing his intercom connection.

"It's the Alpha Reserve Base, sir," replied the man. "It's been—overrun."

"Overrun? By what?"

The man gulped. "Monsters, sir."

"I hope this isn't your idea of a joke, John."

The man nodded glumly. "I didn't want to believe it myself, sir. But if you'd allow, we have a video feed in the communications room…"

"I understand," said the President solemnly as he rose to his feet. "Let's go."

Hurrying down the long hallways, Perkins was amazed to see the President so calm, almost regal. Here they had the nation's most important military base, supposedly impenetrable, being decimated and overrun from within, and he appeared as if he was thinking about his upcoming bass fishing trip.

The communications library was quiet, containing only two technicians and one of the President's other trusted aides, who leapt from his seat to meet them.

"Mr. President," bowed the aide, signaling to the techs to bring up the data.

"Jamison," nodded the President. "What have we got here?"

Monitors flickered to life before them, enough screens to cover the entire length of the thirty-foot wall. On them, dozens of monsters were tearing through the military ranks, shredding the best-trained soldiers in the country.

"We've been recording for nearly thirty minutes now," answered Jamison. "This is a direct video feed from the Alpha base; as you can see, things have gotten far out of hand."

"And Baldwin? Did he get off the base in time?"

"It—doesn't appear so, sir."

"Bring up the video," ordered the President. "I want to see this from the beginning."

"As you can see, sir, the outbreak seemed to originate here, in the central underground living quarters," said Jamison, pointing it out on the displayed blueprint.

"Where Baldwin was giving his testimony?"

"Yes, sir. Our video feed shows that an assailant somehow entered the base, undetected—"

"Any idea as to how?"

"We have a research team working on that now, sir. But the assailant kills the main interrogator, Agent Donaldson, then the two other agents on guard detail…"

"Looks like Baldwin put up a decent fight."

"He emptied over twenty rounds into his attacker, who somehow recovered and spread this outbreak."

"How? How could one person have done this?"

"It appears to be mechanical, sir. As you can see here, static immediately begins to affect the cameras when she recovers. We've enhanced the picture, and it appears that she attached a device on one of the deceased agents' ears."

"A device that could transform him into one of those things? That's quite a leap of judgment," said Perkins skeptically.

The President held up one hand to quiet his friend, signaling Jamison to continue his summary.

"Furthermore, it appears that the entire physiology of a person is altered by this device, and the genetic blueprint for the monsters can be transferred physically."

"Like a virus?"

"It appears that way, sir. As far as we can tell, only one person was affected by the device, but we see dozens of them here on the screen, charging through military-grade assault weapons."

"What about Baldwin? He was supposed to tell us who was behind this."

"It appears they shut him up, sir. After the transformation, we see the attacker seal him in the room with the first creature. She then proceeds to unleash some sort of pyrotechnic attack in the confines of the hallway, eliminating over a dozen soldiers. From there, she simply vanishes from the monitors, leaving that first transitive creature to spread its virus."

"Personalized stealth technology…a viral weapon of this magnitude…this is getting out of hand."

"That's not all, sir," said Jamison. "It appears the assassin left the transcription of Baldwin's confession intact, and in that room. It's as if she's daring us to go after it rather than simply wipe the base out with another attack from our defense satellite."

"That cunning little bitch…but it might be possible that she didn't know about the location of the transcript, right?"

"Unlikely. For her to have been able to attack Donaldson so effortlessly, she must have been in the room, overhearing the whole thing."

"Finding out exactly how much he knew," nodded the President, understanding the reasoning. "What else do we know about her?"

"For some reason we can't determine, she talks to Baldwin for a length before letting him attack her. However, the positioning of the camera didn't give us a frontal view of her, so it's impossible to know what she looks like or what she said. And…it appears she has neo-mitochondria of some sort, in addition to some advanced cybernetic enhancements."

"A rogue Golem gone haywire, perhaps," suggested Perkins, but the President shook his head.

"Unlikely," he replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "She's showing a clear-cut motive to her attack. She was able to learn the extent of Baldwin's knowledge while managing to permanently silence him. Furthermore, she, or her employers, will be able to find out exactly how desperately we need the information contained in that case, in turn discerning what we do and don't know…it's a brilliant move," he said admiringly. "But it's this neo-mitochondria that concerns me. Are we certain that it wasn't cybernetics involved, but mitochondria?"

"We cannot be 100 sure either way, sir," replied Jamison. "I've forwarded a copy of the video to the proper research outlets; they'll have a definitive answer for us within twenty-four hours."

"That's a long time," said the President gruffly. "There were nearly a thousand servicemen at the facility…what's the estimated rate of complete infection?"

"Assuming the men follow outbreak protocol strictly, sir, approximately eighteen hours. But we're also seeing the virus affect human physiology postmortem. If this holds true, the time window could shrink significantly."

"To what?"

"Maybe five hours," replied Jamison with a sigh. "At best."

"So…a thousand of those things in just a few hours, with the capability of spreading it worldwide…"

The four men sat silently in the room, knowing the immense pressures weighing on that one other man's mind, but still looking to him for their orders nonetheless. Anything he commanded would be obeyed without question, performed without hesitation.

"Your recommendation, sir?" No reply. "Sir…?"

"The SDI…have it ready," he said tiredly. "Have the Marines set up a cautionary perimeter on the base to eliminate anything that moves or comes out of those doors."

"What about the servicemen," asked Perkins. "Some might escape…"

"John," said the President, looking his old friend squarely in the eye. "Anything that moves."

* * *


	6. Acquaintances

**Acquaintances**

Two miles south of that stately white house, within the city limits and just on the border where crime-ridden ghettos met million dollar mansions, was an ordinary shopping mall. Within that mall sat an even more nondescript parking garage, angled levels of concrete slabs filled with empty vehicles.

One vehicle, however, was packed tightly with its fair share of passengers. The green GTO that had torn up the District's streets was resting idly, containing five of the most sought after people in the district.

"Hey Rupie, can't you move your seat up just a little," whined Pierce, his legs pressed practically to his chest.

Rupert turned slowly around, glaring at Pierce before gruffly saying, "No."

"Couldn't we find some place a bit…roomier to meet, Aya," complained Jodie, sandwiched between Pierce and Maeda in the backseat. Though she was miserable, she had the feeling both men were secretly enjoying the close quarters.

"This is only temporary, Jodie, I promise," said Aya. "We're going to have to split up after today," she added.

"What do you mean," asked Jodie.

"The FBI is going to shut down MIST," replied Rupert. "We're all going to be removed from active duty and be forced to turn in our badges."

"You mean like an early retirement?"

"More like a forced dismissal…but there is something going on here, still, despite the Bureau's attempt to cover it up," he said.

"I think you better tell them," suggested Aya.

"At Brecklin's…I saw Risa. She killed him," admitted Rupert, to the shock of Pierce and Jodie.

"Who's that," asked Maeda, confused by the others' surprise.

"She was a former MIST agent," said Jodie, looking away. "She disappeared on a mission a few years ago, and the Bureau called off the search on her for no reason, despite all our attempts to keep it going. Even Baldwin tried his best to resurrect the effort."

"What was she investigating," wondered Maeda, lost by all the names being thrown at him. Everyone looked to Jodie, the unofficial records keeper of the organization.

"The official record stated that she was going undercover in a black market fertility scam, stealing and selling embryos and reportedly even babies to tamper with their genetic material. We were never able to connect the suspected company to anything. We couldn't even prove that Risa had entered their installation."

"And then…?"

"Nothing," replied Pierce, closing his eyes. "No communication, no response, no messages…nothing to prove she was ever even on this planet. She simply vanished, according to my devices," he admitted, the pain of the past written clearly across his face.

Aya reached over to him, covering his shaking hands with her own.

"Stop blaming yourself, Pierce," she said gently. "No one could have done any better."

"But I could've—"

"Enough dwelling in the past," said Rupert bluntly. "It's doing us no good now."

"He's right," agreed Maeda. "There are more than enough problems to face today."

"You don't know the half of it, doc," said Rupert. "I found a transmitter on Brecklin, much like the one Aya found in the Akropolis Towers…"

"The geo-tracker, you mean," asked Pierce.

"I would think so," replied Rupert. "But have we considered that the device does something else?"

"Like what?"

"Brecklin was dead when I found him; confirmed it myself. And yet, he transformed into one of those ANMC's that we'd encountered, well after death. Is it possible…?"

"For the device to serve as a trigger…? Of course, I never thought of that," said Pierce excitedly. "I suppose it would be possible for a predetermined genetic blueprint to be set up for one catalyst, even something as insignificant as a message signal via the tracker…"

"That requires a remarkable amount of information, though," countered Maeda, listening to Pierce's theory.

"Also, you should know…" began Rupert. "The only way I was able to put down the creature was by destroying that tracker…and Brecklin reverted to human form after it was destroyed."

"That's incredible," said Maeda, awed by the prospect. "For a remote device to drastically alter one's genetics so rapidly and efficiently, being completely dependent on such a small device…remarkable!"

"Can we stop the 'ooh-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over the bad guy's gadgets," asked Jodie. "Where is that tracker you found, Aya?"

"I gave it to Pierce," she replied. All eyes turned to him.

"Crap," he moaned. "It was put into evidence with everything else in the office," he said. "And locked up at the Bureau's main office, along with all my research on the device…"

"Had you found anything significant," asked Maeda.

"No, nothing remarkable," said Pierce. "I do remember that the data transfer rate of the device was remarkably high, though."

"Did it carry an encrypted radio wave," Maeda asked.

"I couldn't tell, the wavelength emitter was—"

"Can you two save it for later," asked Jodie, put out. "I've listened all morning to discussions and arguments about stuff that frankly, I and I'm pretty sure everyone else, _doesn't _want to hear about."

"Sorry Miss Jodie," apologized Maeda, and she immediately felt guilty at the sincerity in his voice.

"I-I didn't mean it like that," she said weakly. "Please, continue."

"Master of international relations, eh, Jodie," winked Aya, and Jodie felt her cheeks flush.

"We're losing sight anyways," interrupted Rupert. "We need a plan now; what do we know about Baldwin, Pierce?"

"He left his first meeting early this morning, and the last we saw of him, he was boarding a helicopter about four hours ago."

"Any idea where it was headed?"

"It was a private chopper, so I was unable to find its course on any flight plan," replied Pierce. "But I was able to track it via satellite visuals, and it was headed south, towards a mountainous region. Intercepted a few of its radio signals, but lost them once they entered the mountains."

"Could you triangulate a destination point?"

"It'd be rough at best," he shrugged. "But I suppose it'd be better than nothing."

"You're going to have to make due without your usual equipment as well," said Rupert.

"What…? Why?"

"We're doing this one off the books," he said. "Take Maeda with you too, see if the two of you can dig up anything on those ear-piece transmitters."

"What about me," asked Jodie, as Aya started up the engine.

"You're going to dig up everything you can on our old friend Risa."

In the darkest corners of the city, far underground and distant from the light of day, a group of men sat around the shadowed edges of a long table.

"Her name is Aya Brea," said the man at the head of the table. "She was the only one capable of penetrating the barrier in New York City three years ago, and also with the more recent incident in the Mojave Desert. Her current affiliation is with MIST, the subsidiary of the FBI, created to hunt down and destroy the remnants of that New York disaster, relocated to the west coast. She is well-trained, and her mitochondria are functioning at a higher level than any other human being on record, providing her with certain…abilities that set her far apart from her peers."

"But she's so young…"

"That is another side effect of the mitochondria, which has regressed her physical appearance. In fact, she is actually twenty eight years old, with a wealth of field experience."

"Ah, the age regression benefit…it lured so many people into the Neo-Ark's clutches…"

"The old and wealthy; such a foolish lot. Any sympathies for them should be left at the door, gentlemen. What we are facing now is of far greater importance."

"Don't tell me you plan to send that girl in to recover the item…?"

"The thought had occurred to me; after all, who is better qualified or with more experience? She has faced these types of odds on two separate occasions, and conquered them with little to no assistance."

"What about our mole in the Mojave? He reported regular contact with Agent Brea, and suggested that he had assisted her to a significant degree."

"His…loyalty is questionable," he replied. "He purposefully gave us inaccurate target coordinates for the SDI, and disappeared from sight after that."

"Is it possible that the NA got their hands on him?"

"It is possible, but unlikely. He was far too meticulous to be taken without getting us some sort of notification or message."

"It's only been a short while; surely with our resources we can find one man…?"

"Not this agent, sir. He trained in our Omega program, and participated in Project Pegasus as well."

"And we just let him get away?! How much of a monetary loss was that?"

"A few million; he was a participant in the program long before its most recent…advancements. This was before we perfected the control stimuli program as well, giving him far too much free will."

"Like Number 9?"

"Exactly, sir. It was probably that relationship that let Nagida infiltrate their organization so thoroughly."

"And he would have helped us here in our current situation, wouldn't he?"

"Most likely; he would be my personal candidate for the task, but Brea is all we have right now."

"Where is she now?"

"Our surveillance team lost her two hours ago in the National Library, sir. They're tracking her down now."

"What are the chances she'll agree to this type of suicidal task?"

"Our psyche profiles suggest she has developed a severe guilt complex since the blockade incident with regards to these…creatures. Once she sees some familiar enemies, she'll be willing to do whatever we tell her for a shot at them."

"You're that certain?"

"I'm putting our plan on the line, aren't I?"

* * *

Rupert paced along the quiet hallways of the museum-like library. His shoes clicked noisily on the marble floors, making him wince with every step. Running a gloved hand along a row of leather-bound books, he couldn't help but think back to his encounter with Risa; she seemed more lucid than he could ever have imagined, yet she must have been under the control of someone else. After all, why would she want to kill him? Or anyone else for that matter? The Risa he remembered wasn't that type of person… 

Something darted past the far end of the aisle. Wheeling with one hand on the butt of his pistol, he strained his ears to listen for more movement. It could have been someone else here; it was, after all, a library. But he heard nothing. No footsteps, no wheel cart. Preferring to err on the side of caution, he backed away in the opposite direction, doubling back through the library doors that led to the main hall. He knew Aya and Jodie would still be down in the archives, gathering everything they could on Risa and her caseload. They had to hurry before their clearance was revoked, before they lost all official capacity in the eyes of the Bureau.

The hard marble stairs had a finely woven carpet running down its middle, like a cascading waterfall. Rupert hurried up them, reaching the open balcony, keeping his head down out of sight. Creeping over on his haunches, he peeked over the railing, down into the main hall of the library; mostly college kids, a few old couples, and some plainclothes men. There was something strange about those men, he thought, watching them intently. They were milling about, pretending to browse, but their eyes never stayed for long on the books they held in their hands. Their eyes constantly turned to the archives' doors, though they did their best to appear casual. Definitely agents, he realized. But for whom?

He felt something tug lightly as his trousers, and he spun, again reaching for the pistol under his jacket, coming face to face with a young boy. Embarrassed at being caught so easily unawares by a child, Rupert tried to salvage his dignity by shooing the boy away, but who only tilted his head quizzically side to side.

"What are you playing," asked the boy innocently.

"Nothing," said Rupert, annoyed. "Go away."

"Can I play too? My parents are _bor_ing…"

"Look, kid," began Rupert. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

The boy shrugged, still making no effort to move. A thought occurred to Rupert.

"On second thought, I got a game we can play, kid…"

Newspapers that shouldn't have looked decades old somehow still did under the smudged microfiche screen, the days and years flying past. The two women had spent most of the afternoon plowing through the papers, printing and copying anything remotely related to what they were looking for.

Jodie concentrated on news reports from the months of and after Risa's disappearance, while Aya skimmed through everything in the past few weeks regarding the Mojave incident, and digging so far back as December of 1997. That was secondary, however, as she had called in a big favor before they entered the library.

"Hello," said the weary voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, pops," said Aya cheerfully into her cell phone. "Long time no speakum."

"Aya," he had said cheerfully, with the faintest hint of a sigh. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know me all too well, Daniel," she said. "Or should I call you Chief now?"

"Daniel is fine with me," he said. "Just like old times; besides, even now when I hear 'Chief', I don't realize people are talking to me."

Same old Daniel, she thought with a smile. "How's Ben these days?"

"Still nursing his broken heart when you left," he laughed. "He's discovered girls his own age now, though, doing very well in school too…he's too busy to spend time with _me_ now. How do you like that, huh?"

"Guess that gives you an excuse to work longer hours, huh?"

"Something like that," he replied with a yawn.

"Daniel, I need to ask a favor of you…"

"Shoot away, partner," he replied without hesitation. "Anything to help save the world."

"I need everything, and I do mean _everything_, you have on the blockade incident. All the files, data, and reports from that week, and a one month window before and after."

"That's a tall order, Aya," he sighed. "You're talking confidential information, not to mention an insane amount of legwork…"

"What, not up to the task, Daniel," she teased. "I hope that's not old age setting in…"

She could hear him grumbling, rubbing his jaw roughly with his free hand, and knew she had gotten to him.

"How soon," he asked.

"Anything you can get in a twenty-four hour period is good," she answered. "And be sure not to mention this to anyone," she warned.

"Same old Aya," he sighed playfully.

"Same old Daniel," she shot back, and they both laughed.

He hung up before she could thank him, and before either could say goodbye. Goodbyes just weren't his style.

* * *

_Note: Hey all, dug this chapter up from my old hard drive. Was bored today, wrote another chapter out, and the framework for the rest of this story. Couldn't really wrap my head around anything else worth putting down, so I turned to this old one, hoping inspiration would strike. Hope you enjoy it! _


	7. Trapped

**Trapped**

The boy's scream tore through the quiet stillness of the library, unsettling the peace. A second scream told everyone that it wasn't a game, and brought the guards and concerned citizens alike running. Turning the corner, those parties were confronted by a familiar sight, though none had ever seen such an event in person.

The boy was struggling against the grip of a large man, while his companion tried to hush the squirming boy. Seeing the shocked faces of the new arrivals, the men raised their hands, trying desperately to explain.

"Look, it's not what you think," said the first one, releasing his grip from the boy's collar. Weeping, the boy quickly scurried away to the arms of his worried parents.

"Like we've never heard that one before, you scummy perverts," said the guard, leveling his service pistol at the man. "Hands on your head, and kiss the pavement!"

"We're government agents on official business," argued the other one, but seeing the disgust in the eyes glaring at him, he had no choice but to comply.

"You're going to jail," spat one of the elderly women. "And then to hell, you rotten bastards!" Cries of agreement were heard, and the men exchanged worried glances. Things might get out of hand…

"Listen, we have identification," said the inert man. "And we are carrying firearms—"

"Guns?"

"In the National Library?!"

"You sick freaks!"

As the commotion rose to a frenzy, Rupert walked calmly down the stairs, found Aya and Jodie, and the trio nonchalantly exited the building. Four police cruisers passed them, and a news van. None took notice of the three, or the bulging bags of reprints they were stuffing into the trunk of the car.

* * *

"How is that tracking program of yours working, Pierce," asked Maeda, browsing through the computer's hard drive, a puzzled expression on his usually thoughtfully puzzled face.

"I had left an automated macro in the system to track the chopper, but it seems to have lost it around this southeastern mountain range, due to weather conditions."

"How much time did you lose?"

"About an hour," replied Pierce. "But judging by the severity of the weather changes, their rate and angle of flight, and wind resistance, they couldn't have made it very far. Furthermore, the scanner doesn't pick up any movement for the next few hours…"

"Which means they are probably close by?"

"Exactly! See, you know this computer stuff more than you let on…"

"I know genetics, biology. Computers are only a means to an end in my field."

"Plus they play great games, right," laughed Pierce. He returned his attention to the remote camera units he had scattered throughout the FBI's secure installation, mapping a safe course for his remote controlled unit to reacquire their lost evidence. So far the ventilation system had proven surprisingly well defended.

"Are you certain that is safe," asked Maeda, seeing Pierce browse effortlessly through the installation's blueprints. "That information is probably well-protected."

"You'd be surprised," scoffed Pierce, "at how careless our government can be. Why, I can find the President's itinerary in here, files on every American citizen for the past century, and anything else you could dream up."

"If you say so," said Maeda, but he didn't seem quite as certain as Pierce.

* * *

"Isn't that where Aya and the others went," asked Maeda, seeing something on the muted television set. Pierce's ears suddenly picked up, and he clicked the TV off of mute. The loud blare of sirens filled the room before he could turn down the volume. 

"Sorry," he apologized meekly, but Maeda's eyes were glued to the set. "Kidnapping? At the National Library…? What kind of idiot…?"

"This place…is it very dangerous?"

"Not really. The worst I've ever heard is a few bums wandering in there, whacking off to the college girls. I suppose an attempted child kidnapping is a bit more extreme, as commonplace as that is these days, sadly."

"Whacking…off…?" Maeda said, the English slang throwing him for a loop. Pierce reddened.

"I'll explain it to you some other time," Pierce said, slapping Maeda on the shoulder. Both felt rather awkward at that moment.

"But the others…are they…ok?"

"I'm sure they are," assured Pierce. "I pity the fool who would try and kidnap Rupert."

* * *

Ten hours later, on another television set: 

"Channel Seven News…Ramona Quint reporting… in the wake of the largest internal investigation in the history of organized intelligence in America, the FBI has only found itself asking more questions. Reports indicate that the FBI installation in Washington has been shut down after the break-in earlier tonight. A spokesman for the Bureau insists that it was a faulty alarm system malfunction, but internal sources have indicated that it was a well-planned and well-executed invasion by experienced criminals. No injuries have been reported as of yet, but several ambulances have been dispatched to the scene. Again, the FBI compound in Washington DC has been shut down after an attempted—"

Aya clicked off the set, a tired smile on her lips.

"You hear that? 'Well-planned'…shows you what the press in this town really knows."

"The only press I respect is on the internet."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me at all."

"We got what we wanted; that should be enough for now. What have you guys found out about that device?"

"Nada, Rupes. Its electronic array is astounding in its intricacy…"

"Jodie, what about the old MIST logs? Have you found anything in those?"

"It's a work in progress," she sighed, resting the heavy binder neatly across her knees. "I'll need a lot more time, especially since I'm combing through just about _everything_."

"Same with the Blockade Incident reports," added Aya, shoving her messy pile aside. "Daniel really outdid himself," she grumbled, glancing at the mountain of other documents behind her.

Rupert's musty old cabin was getting use for the first time in a long while, it seemed. He had gotten by with the bare essentials; no niceties or the slightest of luxuries adorned his space efficient hideout. Judging by the thin layers of dust coating the few pieces of furniture he did have, it was safe to assume he hadn't been by in a couple of months.

"God, someone lives here," whined Jodie when she first saw it, her nose reflexively wrinkling. Though the place didn't smell from old delivery food or cartons of spoiled milk, there was still a mysterious pungent odor emanating from every dusty corner. "It smells like a shoebox," she muttered, placing that smell as the overpowering scent of wood.

"More like a coffin," laughed Pierce, fixing his shades as they slid down his nose. No one replied, the others still upset at his driving on the way up the mountain earlier. Despite the darkness of the dirt road, he had insisted on driving, and did so while wearing his favorite shades. Having driven off the road more than a couple times, the others had collectively voted to ban him from ever driving at night again.

Four trips back and forth from the car, lugging heavy boxes of documents and reports, and the appeal of the small house began to grow on the group. Rupert fixed a fire in the woodstove, quietly filling the cabin with steady warmth. Tensions began to ease, muscles began to loosen, and spirits began to rise. There was something special about a blazing hearth, something about its comforting glow that meant home to people spread all about the world.

Hours slipped away as the group fell into their work, comparing notes and digging through ledgers of research.

"These FBI reports spare no details, do they," muttered Jodie, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"I'll trade you," offered Aya, tossing a folder aside. "Apparently the NYPD hires the barely literate to write their incident reports."

"Hey, you used to be a part of them," said Rupert grumpily.

"And look where that's gotten me," shot back Aya, slumping in her chair.

"Perspective, people," reminded Pierce, tapping away happily at his keyboard. "Some of us have to do this type of work all day."

"I know you're not including yourself in that statement," said Jodie testily.

"Ah," interrupted Maeda, holding up a paper. "I believe that I have something…"

"What is it, doc," asked Aya, happily pushing aside her pile.

"It is a prevention manual on viruses," he said.

"Oh, that's nothing unusual," said Rupert, not even looking up. "The Bureau needs documentation to show that they are prepared for viral outbreaks…small pox, West Nile virus…it's just paperwork."

"But this guide is for vector viruses," said the doctor, pushing his glasses up. Pierce looked up suddenly from his work.

"A vector virus? Now that ain't your everyday, garden-variety virus."

"What's a vector virus," asked Rupert, finally interested enough in the discussion to put down his work.

"It's a virus that completely recalibrates the victim's DNA, altering their physical state," replied Pierce, and Maeda looked annoyed at not having a chance to answer.

"Like what Aya and I have seen," he said, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "What does the document say?"

"It looks like a prevention outline," said Pierce, snatching the booklet from Maeda.

"But that could just mean they're playing it safe," said Aya. "It doesn't sound incriminating to me."

"I think you misunderstand, Aya," said Pierce. "The specific calibration of a vector virus makes it impossible to prevent."

"Then why…?"

"That is only half true," replied Maeda. "It is only possible if the virus can be isolated at its origin."

"Which means…"

"Which means they already have a sample of it."

"There's more," interrupted Rupert, taking a deep breath. "Aya, you remember that last name on the list I told you about?"

"Is it on the report?"

"His name is on this report," he replied, holding up the document for her to see. "Because he wrote it."

* * *


	8. Separation Anxiety

**Separation Anxiety**

Rupert's revelation had barely sunk in when a sharp buzzer began to ring by the door. Five heads turned as one to the strange device, which sounded like a cross between a fire alarm and a school intercom system.

"What the hell is that," asked Jodie, annoyed. She stood closest to it, after all.

"Shit," muttered Rupert, moving quickly towards the door. "It's an alarm I set up when I bought this place."

"An alarm in the woods," chuckled Aya. "Only you, Rupert."

But the large man ignored her, switching off the bell as he opened a side panel to reveal a fuzzy black and white monitor. A long line of black SUVs rolled up the dirt road, and everyone's attention suddenly returned.

"Definitely not deer," said Jodie, quickly beginning to stuff papers into boxes.

"Looks like the Feds," noted Aya. "How far away are they?"

"We have no more than a couple minutes," grunted Rupert, moving swiftly to his gun rack. "Leave that," he ordered Jodie. "We have what we need, we'll burn the rest."

"Oh dear," said Maeda, pulling at his already disheveled hair.

"This is quite an alarm system, Rupes," said Pierce, looking over the panel. "You did this by yourself, but hound me to fix your crap all the time?"

"Now's not the time," said Rupert, tossing him a shotgun. Pierce hefted the rifle in his hand, and it was clearly heavier than he thought it would have been.

"I'll take that," said Jodie, swooping in. She began to quickly load the shotgun, her sharp eyes on the quiet dirt road outside.

"You got an escape route," asked Aya. But before Rupert could answer, a hail of bullets poured through the windows, and the probing eye of a searchlight filled the small cabin.

"Get down," barked Rupert, sidling against the front door as more bullets tore apart the flimsy glass windows. "Aya…get Maeda and Pierce out that door…there's a path that winds down the mountain, with a boat by the water. Take it!"

"They probably have us surrounded," yelled back Aya, digging through her bags for her service pistol before remembering that the Bureau had taken it back. "It's useless!"

"It's alright," said Rupert, his voice surprisingly steady. "Those are only rubber bullets; they want us alive."

"Rubber bullets," remarked Aya to herself. The notion that they wanted her alive was not exactly comforting, not with what the vast majority of evildoers knew about her.

"Aya, you're the only one who can get them through," said Jodie, jamming her shotgun through the glass and firing a round. The room returned to dimness as her shot found the spotlight. Another instantly snapped on, again filling the room with blinding light.

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD," boomed a voice over a crisp megaphone. "WE PROMISE YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED."

"Famous last words," breathed Aya, crawling towards the back door. Maeda and Pierce crawled obediently behind her, just as smoking canisters flew into the room.

"You can't stay," yelled Pierce to the two at the door. "Come with us," he waved frantically, coughing through the smoke.

"I'm the only one who can stay," said Aya, and suddenly, she was beside Rupert, her eyes shining. "You have to go with them," she said, her voice smooth yet commanding. "They need you."

"They…need…me," echoed Rupert, seemingly unaware of the bullets whizzing by his head.

"Jodie, Pierce can't get out of here without you," she said, turning to the other woman. Jodie nodded, caught under the same spell, before firing off another shotgun round and heading to the door. Before any of them knew it, the door was closed and bolted behind them.

"This is the only way," whispered Aya, bringing a lighter to the stack of papers. Flames, weak at first, began to lick at the papers, growing in size. Soon the fire's path spread to the walls and doors, filling the small cabin with choking black smoke.

She kicked the front door open, shielding her eyes with both hands. The fire continued to rage behind her, smoke pouring from the door and broken windows. Though partly blinded by the lights, she counted twenty men along the road, and knew more would be coming.

A moment of concentration, a burst of energy, and the lot of them were as blind as she was. The men reeled, off balance, shaken by the ray of light that had seemingly come from nowhere, but had, in fact, originated from the young woman standing before them.

And when the stars faded and sight returned, the men were astonished to see her still standing there with her hands held out, the cabin burning brightly behind her.

"Take me to your leader," she said.

* * *

"We have to go back," insisted Pierce, resisting Jodie's pulling hand. "We have to go back!"

"Don't be a fool," barked Rupert, guiding the group down the narrow path. "We can't let her sacrifice herself for nothing."

"She would never leave any of us behind! She wouldn't!"

"Aya knew what she was doing," said Jodie quietly.

"Miss Brea will be fine," agreed Maeda, surprising everyone, for he had been silent for most of the episode. "She has been through more difficult scrapes than any of us."

"But…Aya…" he whispered, taking one last look at the burning cabin. "I'm sorry," he finally said. But whether his apology was directed to her or his worried friends, it was not clear.

"They'll know she wasn't alone," said Jodie, trying to steer the conversation to something more constructive. "And they'll find this path easily enough…if they're not already watching the river."

"I know," grunted Rupert. "But we'll have to chance it…unless you have a better suggestion?"

"I do," said Jodie, surprising everyone. "We split up."

"That's a terrible idea," said Pierce. "We need to pool our talents, to—"

"It's actually not bad," said Rupert appreciatively. "Not bad at all, Jodie; we can throw off our pursuers, splitting their own ranks, while achieving the same end."

"But—," floundered Pierce, who Rupert shot down with a single glare.

"You and Maeda take the boat," nodded Jodie. "Pierce and I will find our way back to the side roads; it isn't that bad of a hike back to civilization from there," she added.

"Be careful," said Rupert, his eyes on Pierce, who took offense.

"I know what I'm doing," he whined.

"Just do whatever she says," Rupert ordered. "We'll meet at the rendezvous tomorrow evening, ok?"

"Ok," said Jodie, interrupting Pierce's comeback. He shot her a look as the other two continued down the path.

"I swear, that guy…" complained Pierce. Jodie said nothing, leading him down a narrow path covered with bushes and trees.

"Did you really think that my idea was so bad," she asked suddenly.

"What? Why does that matter," he groaned. "Doesn't seem like my opinion counts for much anyways."

"It…it matters to some people," she said, and he could feel her soft hand squeeze his. He looked down at her hand, then at her retreating form, puzzled. Women.

* * *

"Aya Brea," said the voice, with neither menace nor compassion. The room was draped in shadows, but she could tell that the owners had gone through painstaking work to keep it so. A long, raised table stood before her, built in a semi-circle, and five mysterious shadows towered over her. It was like something from a bad dream.

"Who are you people," called Aya. "Tell me!"

"We do not concern ourselves with such trifling details," oozed another voice, this one feminine. "But rest assured that no harm shall come to you from our hands."

"So you say," said Aya, regarding the shadows curiously. While it was true she had not been so much as roughed up by her captors, she doubted there was anything kosher to this setup.

"Why did you bring me here," she asked, this time calmer.

"We exist to destroy the Neo-Ark," boomed the first voice. "And for no other reason. You have done them great damage, for which we salute you, Agent Brea."

"No 'agent' anymore," she shot back. "Just Aya."

"You do not need a badge to gain our respect, Miss Brea," said another voice, this one vaguely European. "We have considered you an ally in our endeavors since the beginning."

"An ally? I don't even know who you are!"

The shadow in the middle sighed, and the others turned to him when he finally spoke, his voice old and rough.

"We are a…shadow cabinet of sorts, Agent Brea, and we have battled the Neo-Ark for a long, long time," he said. "Within and without the boundaries of the law."

"So what do you want me for," she asked carefully.

"We want you to get something for us," said the old voice. "Something of great value to us…and to you."

"And what is that?"

"A briefcase."

"Why should I help you," she said, looking over the photographs again. Images of death and violence poured from them, but she was used to them by now. First as a police officer, then as a survivor of two catastrophic disasters.

"You see the carnage before you; can you truly say you have no responsibility?"

"I-I…I don't know," she said weakly. "You really think one person can make it into this facility, past all those guards, then past all these monsters, grab a case, then sneak back out the same way? I might be good, but I'm no Solid Snake."

"Your modesty is a disservice," said the voice. "We are one of the few groups on the planet fully aware of what you are capable of."

"Why does everything have to be so goddamned mysterious with you people," Aya said. "I swear, I ask a question, and your answers only create more questions."

"It is an asset to be unknown to you, Aya. Take no offense in our methods…but please, understand just what we are fighting for. There is the world to consider; your one-time partner, his son…your Eve."

"Are you threatening them," seethed Aya, her eyes burning.

"Merely stating fact," replied another voice. "What the Neo-Ark is attempting will lay waste to the population. No one will be spared."

"Not even their rich backers?"

"The Neo-Ark is not to be trusted, under any circumstances."

"Thanks for that nugget of wisdom."

"There is also the case of your one-time colleague, Kyle Madigan…"

"Kyle? What's he got to do with this?"

"Is it his role in this play that you long to know, Aya? Or information to his whereabouts?"

"So if I get you this case…?"

"We will turn over all our information on one Kyle Madigan. Why, we might even locate him for you…"

Trust and mistrust played across Aya's finely contoured face, weighing the lies of strangers against the lies of her enemies. This shadow cabinet…could they be trusted? They had said all the right things so far, but she knew nothing about them.

"I'll do it," she finally said.

* * *


	9. Reunions

**Reunions**

"Is this the place," he asked gruffly, running a gloved head across his shaven head. "This can't be it," he added, checking his folder as the car idled.

Maeda looked at Rupert and shrugged, smoothing the hopeless wrinkles in his sports coat. Next to the immaculately attired Rupert, Maeda suddenly felt more self aware of his own unkemptness, his slovenly appearance. Then again, his garb fit in with the local color much more so than Rupert's designer brands.

The trailer park was silent, the ring of mid sized tin trailers lain in a circle around the dirt lot. Clothes hung from twine, metal buckets opened and scattered, half full of god only knew what. A wind had kicked up the smell of sewage, rustling the trash littered about the park.

"That is the one," pointed Maeda, at the double wide set in the back. "Address match."

"He would be sure to have the biggest one," remarked Rupert, getting out of the car. "Stay behind me, Maeda," he warned the doctor, drawing out his handcannon.

"Do you really need that," whispered Maeda as they jogged quietly to the trailer's entrance.

"No, but it makes me feel better," grunted Rupert, holding up an index finger to his lips as they reached the door. The handle turned without resistance, and Rupert quietly slid through the door behind the raised barrel of his gun. Maeda followed obediently, when the lights in the trailer flashed to life.

"Drop your gun," ordered a voice, creamy with confidence. Rupert knew without turning that the owner of that voice held a gun. "Took you long enough, Broderick."

"George," nodded Rupert, his hands held up. "Finally found a home to fit your personality, I see."

"A temporary setback, I assure you," grinned the man, waving the semi-automatic from his seated position. "Who's the Jap?"

"My new partner," lied Rupert smoothly.

"Do _all_ Americans have guns," whispered Maeda nervously.

"You and your 'partner' can have a seat then," ordered George, sitting at the far edge of the trailer. A set of chemical apparatuses ran the length of the trailer, and Maeda had not taken his eyes off them. "What's his field of expertise?"

"Bio-weapons," answered Rupert. "He's a new recruit and I'm showing him the ropes."

"So illegal searches are now part of the training at MIST," grinned the man. "Oh wait, that's right; I forgot, your little office has been shut down…ran out of monsters to kill, did you?"

"There are always monsters out there," glared Rupert. "Some just hide better than others."

The man laughed, high and shrill. "I always did like you, Rupert, even if you hated me. But we really should get down to business," he said, lowering his gun.

"What do you know about the vector virus?"

"Same as you, I suppose. The Feds gave me samples, told me to calibrate an antibody, and when I did, they took all my research, then came back and burned down the lab. Barely made it out alive, but my assistant got caught."

"The Feds? Why would they do that? Wouldn't they need you to make more?"

"Once they had the base, they could mass produce it as they saw fit," interrupted Maeda, still in awe of the makeshift chemistry set.

"Your friend knows his stuff," said George. "I can see why you keep him around…besides his inferior fashion sense."

"The Feds don't just burn buildings down, George," said Rupert. "Are you sure it was them who came after you?"

"Well, I thought so," said George, scratching his head. "They all look the same to me, dark suits and sunglasses. I guess that's why you took such pains with your outfits to stand out—"

He stopped talking, a curious expression coming over his face, when Rupert noticed the red puddle expanding on the ratty couch behind him. George fell forward then, and Rupert could see the wasp sized hold where the bullet had entered.

"Get down," he yelled, shoving Maeda aside. But no other bullets followed. After many long, breathless minutes, Rupert exited the trailer, meeting only the night air. The assassin was long gone.

--

"Are you sure this is safe," asked Jodie, following closely in the shadows.

"This clinic was abandoned months ago," replied Pierce, annoyed by her question. For someone packing a modified 12 gauge, she was awfully timid.

"I can barely see anything with this damned visor," she whined. "Everything's green."

"That's how night vision works, Jodie," said Pierce. "It enhances ambient—"

"I know how night vision works, Pierce," she whispered angrily. "I just don't see the need, if this place has been abandoned like you say."

"Well, I don't get many opportunities to field test this stuff, after all," he muttered.

The two fell into silence as they continued their exploration of the empty building. The only thing that seemed to have collected in the waning months was mountains of dust and cobwebs. File cabinets lay torn open, upended and bare. After two hours in the small building, the pair had found nothing.

"There has to be something here, I just know it," said Pierce to himself. Jodie shot him a look, but returned to her own investigation. She had long been a proponent of following one's instincts, but a larger part of her worried that perhaps this was Pierce's guilt come back to haunt him. But there was little harm in allowing him time to explore an abandoned building, or so she told herself.

But when the sounds started, Jodie immediately began to regret giving into that notion. Short, loud thumps resounded through the complex, the rhythmic echo like the dull thrum of a heart beat. Caught as if in the massive bowels of a monstrous beast, the two paused, too frightened to move, less that sound be given substance, and pounce upon them from the shadows.

Pierce opened his mouth to speak, but Jodie silenced him with a raised finger, her eyes darting through the dark to locate the source of the sound. Closer and closer came the rattle, and she raised her shotgun from where she thought the sound originated.

And just as abruptly as it started, the throbbing stopped. The pair unleashed a gasp of relief, when the shadowy shape descended suddenly upon Jodie. It darted from a hole in the ceiling, falling in such a silent way to be almost graceful.

It slammed into her chest, forcing the air from her lungs, and for a moment, Jodie's night visor framed a pale, familiar face in its emerald display. But while the name that went with the face clicked in her head, the ability to speak it, to warn Pierce, had left her in that gush of air.

The shape was moving again, rolling towards Pierce in a zigzagging movement of blinding speed. Flipping itself end over end, the shape bowled him over, landing atop him.

"Hey lover," said the husky voice, leaning towards him.

"Risa," Pierce asked in puzzlement. But whether it was coming face to face with someone he had once believed dead, or the seductive way she straddled him, the curious expression on his face seemed to warm hers.

Her head tilted side to side, seemingly alternating from a bemused expression to a disinterested one. She ran a gloved hand along his face, the tender gesture out of place for one wearing battle armor.

"You never called," she said, suddenly growing angry. The hand became a claw as she dragged it along his cheek, leaving a thin river of blood in its wake. Pierce, so intent on seeing Risa again, barely flinched.

It was a beautiful face, after all, kept in all its pristine glory from days long past. Just as he remembered it, only colder. The blue eyes he had once daydreamed about, likening them to a placid sea, were now tumultuous. Beyond those eyes, a storm raged.

"Back off, bitch," grumbled Jodie, rolling to her side. Fighting back the pain, she raised the 12 gauge, firing a round squarely into the attacker's back. Risa rolled forward from the attack, darting further into the darkness with a shrill laugh.

"You always were the jealous type, Jodie," she called over her shoulder.

Dragging herself to her feet, Jodie hurried to the still shaken Pierce, who was busy looking at something dark on the floor. But Jodie only had eyes for the blood dribbling down his cheek, dabbing at it with a handkerchief pulled hastily from her pocket.

"You hit her," he said numbly. "Right in the back, and she didn't lose a step."

"We should follow her," said Jodie, but looking again at Pierce, seemed to reconsider.

"We'd never be able to keep pace with her," mumbled Pierce, kneeling down. From his jacket he drew out a plastic tube, with which he began to collect a sample of the dark puddle.

"What's that for?"

"It's her blood," replied Pierce. "It might hold some useful information," he added, tapping the tube's cap. "Let's get back to the lab."

--

He remembered a time when he had guns piled to the ceiling, when permits were optional and every red blooded American he knew carried a gun. He remembered when trucks came with gun racks standard, and it was only those wacky liberal types who asked for a truck without one. He remembered when a thief was scared to hold up a convenience store, afraid that a patron would be carrying a monster under that overcoat. He remembered and sighed.

"Those were the days, I tell you," said Douglas, scratching his loyal dog's ears. "Flint, m'boy, you miss them days too, I bet." The dog barked.

He had shipped the first package to Rupert's address, the box heavy, but clearly no different than any other mail. It had contained the Maeda mods and a few other pieces he knew Aya liked.

"What is it, boy," asked Douglas, seeing his dog's ears prick up. The dog barked.

The warehouse was quiet, only the sound of a steady rain falling on the metallic roof. Water distorted the outside lights flickering through the windows, casting the massive room under an eerie glow that was almost haunting, ethereal. But the dog had noticed none of this, even after many long hours in the warehouse. He was, after all, only a dog.

But when the shriek of the explosion came, tearing off most of the north wall and sending his master to the ground in a dusty heap, Flint proved himself more. Shaking off the effects of the bomb, he met the group of armed men charging into the space with a growl, leaping at one and locking his jaws around the man's arm until he tasted sweet, hot blood. The men fell back, but only for a moment. Another moment and one bullet later, and Flint went down. Life faded from the dog's eyes as it took one last, lingering look at its fallen master.

--

The lab was empty by the time they returned. Jodie had stuck emphatically close to the speed limit, intent on not drawing attention to their movements. While Pierce would normally have complained, he was busy eyeing the syrupy substance in his evidence container, as if he could stare through its mysterious depths with naked eyes. In fact, he even removed his trademark sunglasses to get a better look at the sample.

He said nothing as he prepped the sample, dabbing it on a slide before sliding it smoothly under the microscope. Humming as he worked, Jodie was fascinated by his efficiency, his familiarity in the lab. It was almost graceful, the way he worked, in his element. She was about to say something along these lines when she noticed his brow arching above the microscope.

"What is it," she asked.

"It's Risa's blood," he replied distantly, stroking his chin, annoyed by the fresh bandage that ran the length of his face.

"Well, I know that," she said, put out by the obvious answer.

"It's more than that," said Pierce, turning towards her. "She's pregnant."

--


	10. Infiltration

The image on the screen flickered with the pale light that could only be supplied by surplus generators. It was a white grid, detailed with intersecting and crisscrossing straight lines, stacked upon dozens of similarly designed lines.

"This is your target, Agent Brea," said the captain gruffly. He looked at her again, curiously, wondering how the higher-ups could expect this _girl_ to succeed where his battle hardened soldiers hadn't. She didn't even seem to be paying attention, concentrating on twirling a pen between nimble fingers. While she seemed to be getting more and more adept at it, it took everything in the captain not to chastise her for it.

"The facility is built into the mountain, but extends hundreds of feet below the surface, where the heaviest concentration of affected will most likely be," he continued. "The main levels are symmetrical and adjacent, so it will be easy to lose your way if you don't pay attention." He emphasized the last three words, but she still sat there, uninterested and distant. Part of him wondered if she had chewing gum in that bored mouth.

"Agent Brea," he finally said, angrily standing before the projector. "This is a very dangerous, important—"

"Do you guys have a ladies room in this camp," she interrupted, getting to her feet. "Girl troubles," she whispered, though everyone in the tent heard her clearly enough. The men shifted uncomfortably, and the captain pointed her to the latrines, frustrated.

Ten minutes passed; fifteen. The soldiers cast annoyed looks at the mouth of the tent, as if their collective gaze could make her appear, but still she did not return. Finally, the captain sent one of the privates to fetch her. Another ten minutes, and he returned, red faced and embarrassed.

"Where is she," asked the captain.

"She's…gone, sir," said the private meekly.

--

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in another tense briefing session, the most powerful man in the world sat with his most trusted aides, two rows of television monitors showing only static, a technician working feverishly to remedy the situation. It was only after several minutes of watching the silent snow on the screens that the President finally spoke.

"Possible causes," he asked, a tight fist pressed to his mouth.

"My first guess would be an electro-magnetic pulse weapon of some sort knocking out the electrical systems," suggested Jamison.

"Or the creatures could have made a dash and overrun the Marine defenses," offered Perkins.

"When was the last contact with the Marine commander," asked the President.

"Half an hour ago, sir," replied the technician. Jamison shot the younger man a dirty look, and his face fell.

"About half an hour," said Jamison, but the President seemed to already be thinking of something else.

"An EMP would explain the lack of communications…but so would a full outbreak…"

"An EMP's effects will fade after twenty minutes, sir," offered Jamison. "Electrical systems would restore themselves shortly afterwards."

"Our satellites should be able to pick up any abnormal activity caused by such a pulse," suggested Perkins. "Right?"

One by the one, the monitors flickered back to focus, the images illustrating what had already been going on for the previous hours. Creatures ran amok, tearing apart servicemen whose mouths screamed silent agonies to the men watching.

"Looks like we're back online," said Perkins, breathing a sigh.

"Damnation," whispered the President, and the others looked at him, puzzled. But a moment later, and they too saw the reason for his consternation.

Baldwin laid on the floor, naked and human, a neat black hole drilled into his forehead. The steel briefcase was gone.

--

"She can't have gotten far," spat the captain, organizing his handful of men into search parties. "I knew we couldn't trust that blonde bitch!"

"Never expect a woman to do a man's job."

"Like she could ever do what we couldn't."

"Probably scared shitless after that briefing."

"Who wouldn't be?"

"Hundreds of those things with no backup?"

"Who would ever expect someone to be able to do that, alone?"

"I'm going to give that bitch a good ol' fashioned beating when I find her."

"Fall in line," barked the captain. "And remember, she is not to be hurt," he said, remembering his orders. "Her safety is very important—"

"Well shucks, cap," interrupted a familiar voice. "I didn't know you had it in you," said Aya, appearing at the tent's flaps. "You big softie."

"Where have you been," shouted the captain angrily. "We have a vital mission briefing here with a shrinking time window, and you just stroll in and out as you please!"

She shrugged, tossing a steel briefcase onto the table. The heavy thud silenced the men. Momentarily.

"Is that…?"

"No way man. No f'ing way!"

"How did…?"

"Brea," breathed the captain. "Is that what I think it is?"

In reply, she sat heavily in a chair, crossing her legs in a relaxed way that showed the men just who was in charge.

"It's locked," she said, examining her nails. "But it's exactly where you said it'd be."

"How did you…get it?"

"I just…strolled in and out," she replied with a wry smile. "As I pleased."

"You didn't even take any ordinance with you," said one of the men, still in awe of her feat.

"Didn't need it," she shrugged, patting the holster that held her trusty P22. "Just this."

"You must have been lucky, not to encounter any heavy numbers of the ANMC's," countered one skeptic. Some of the others mumbled in agreement.

"I saw the packs you mentioned," she said. "Only had to fight one ANMC, though."

"How did you manage that?"

"Must be my perfume," she replied. "Didn't seem to impress Baldwin much though."

"Baldwin," said the captain in disbelief. "You encountered him?"

"He was sitting on the case," answered Aya. "Never did like him very much, the little perv," she added, throwing on her jacket. "So when we heading back?"

"Once we get this open and confirm its contents," said the captain, now examining the case's lock intently. "If this even _is_ the case…"

Aya chuckled into her hand. "There was a camera in the room, #38B, aimed right at the case, right? Check it."

The men turned hesitantly towards the monitors, eyes probing for the screen marked with the 38B tag. They saw images of carnage, hordes of monsters rampaging through the facility, and none of them imagined it to be possible to do what this young woman claimed to have done, expending only one round from her weapon in the process.

"I'll be damned," whispered one of the men, as the others exchanged sullen looks of begrudging respect.

"Let's get to the choppers," ordered the captain, still shaken from the ease of Aya's feat. "We'll open the case back at headquarters."

--

Note: This scenario was originally going to be the center piece for the action of the story. But I found that as I was writing it, I was having more fun with the individual characters than any mission type thing, so I abandoned it. The end result is the same, but Aya was just a bit more subtle than we've become accustomed to. As to how she exactly did it, it's one of those PE powers that makes sense but you know didn't make it into the game for fear of hurting the gameplay. The essence is that Aya was able to mask her pheromones from the ANMC's, maybe even bending light as well. Not being able to smell her, she could slip in and out as long as she wasn't forced into direct combat. Aya is quite powerful by the end of PE2, so one can't help but wonder what other powers she has.


	11. Secrets

"Why did we not wait for the police," asked Maeda, looking nervously back.

"Too many unwanted questions," replied Rupert, eyeing his rear view mirror. "An anonymous tip is best…for now."

"But your friend…"

"He wasn't my friend," cut in Rupert, before thinking better about it. "I'll file a report once we get our business taken care of; I have a feeling the two cases are related."

"He had much respect for you, that man," noted Maeda, staring into the dark countryside as they drove. Houses dotted the horizon, windows dark. The world slumbered, and a man he had just met would never awaken again. It was a heavy thought; one that sat with the many other heavy thoughts they had had over the past few days.

"George was…he wasn't a terrible man," offered Rupert grimly. "For all his faults, he really did try to help people. I suppose we all have that in common," he added, and the men drove in silence.

--

"How could Risa be pregnant," Jodie asked. "With all those robotic parts?"

"I don't know," answered Pierce. "But those cybernetic enhancements didn't replace any part of her body; they were additions to improve and enhance what was already there. Like breast implants," he added thoughtfully.

"Can we keep our heads focused here," said Jodie, poking Pierce in the side. "Rupert and Maeda should be here any minute now, and all we have is more questions than answers. Like, who's the father?"

"Can't help but wonder that, myself," said Pierce. "She looked so different, too."

"So pale," agreed Jodie. "Even her hair…does the cybernetic surgery do that to everyone?"

"Most lose their hair," said Pierce absently, going through the report on the blood sample. "Then again, I'd never seen the procedure successfully done on a woman."

"Not to mention an expectant mother."

"It's possible she was impregnated after that surgery."

"Ew, gross," she said. "Who would ever…" she began, but seemed to reconsider when Pierce looked up at her.

"Who would ever what?"

"Never mind," she said, but she could tell by the sparkle in his eye just what he would be willing to do with a beautiful woman that was half machine. His dream come true, probably.

--

"This is remarkable," marveled Maeda, standing over the microscope.

"We were just discussing that," called Jodie. She and Rupert were busy cleaning the weapon ordinance, but alert to the discussion at hand. "I mean, a pregnant cyborg…?"

"More than that, I fear," began Maeda, stroking his chin. "Mister Pierce, do you have a file on the original Eve strain?"

"Not here," replied Pierce. "You don't think…?"

"They are not the same," said Maeda with a shake of his head. "But the similarities of the mitochondria are more than coincidence."

"Could they have been related," said Rupert, looking down the long barrel of a gun.

"Unlikely," scoffed Pierce. "Aya and Risa looked nothing alike."

"And if anyone's the expert of what Aya looks like, it's you, right Pierce," mumbled Jodie.

"More than that," argued Pierce, not sensing her sarcasm. "They were practically opposites in facial structure and appearance."

"The Eve strain probably would have sought Risa out as well," said Maeda thoughtfully. "And Risa was unable to pass through the Blockade, right?" All eyes shifted to Rupert.

"Seemed that way," he grunted, snapping the new long barrel into place. Though he had said nothing when discovering the package from Mr. Douglas, he was obviously rather pleased with the end result.

"So we can eliminate that possibility," said Pierce, satisfied.

"No matter the cause," said Maeda. "If the strain mutates any further, it would be big trouble for everyone."

"How so," wondered Jodie.

"The original strain here," pointed Maeda. "Allowed the Maya affected host to create neo-mitochondria creatures in the first incident. But here," he pointed to another slide. "Is the strain mutated, that we found in this Risa person. It allows her to control the artificial neo-mitochondria creatures that were created by the vector virus."

"So what," she said. "We catch her, we cut their strings, right?"

"This new strain is mutating again," replied Pierce. "Meaning that Risa won't be able to control them; the first host of the new strain will be the one pulling the strings."

"And they won't stop until that host is put down," said Rupert, realizing the direness of the situation. "Can you build an antibody from what you have there," he asked.

"No, we would need a counteragent for a proper antibody," said Maeda. "Like Aya's blood for the first Eve strain."

"Would Aya's blood be enough again?"

"Unlikely," replied Maeda. "Her blood had adapted to Maya's malicious mitochondria, after years and years of co-existing; for us to recreate that environment, under these circumstances, would be…would be…" He faltered.

"Impossible," finished Rupert.

--

The outside of the building appeared as it did before; dusty, old, and abandoned. But Jodie's ribs still stung from the impact of her earlier encounter with the building's resident ghost, and she was none too eager to test her luck again.

"Risa was _here_," said Rupert, astonished. "She used to complain about the slightest bit of dust."

"Maybe that's why she was here," mumbled Jodie. "To clean up the dust."

"This is where she was investigating when she disappeared," noted Rupert, glancing again through the folders they had brought with them. "We were never able to connect the company to anything else, though."

"Looks like bankruptcy did the rest for us," said Jodie, her eyes never leaving the boarded up windows.

"Protesters," said Rupert, still scanning the document. "Some fanatics firebombed it, too, back in '99, and the sponsors decided this area wasn't worth the risk."

"So they just upped and moved," said Jodie, surprised. She would have thought that low cost urban areas would be ideal for the work done by the fertility clinic.

"It's a business, just like any other," said Rupert, shutting the folder and holstering his gun. "Let's go."

--

"She's probably long gone," he assured her. But Jodie was taking no chances, her eyes darting nervously between the darkness before her and the thermal scanner she had Pierce dig up for her.

"I hope you're right," she mumbled. Part of her wished Pierce and Maeda had come with them; though she would likely have to watch over them, she found a particular comfort in being entrusted with their safety. She idly wondered if that was some part of feminine intuition, that desire to protect. But she shook the thought aside, seeing Rupert comb through the ruins with such business-like efficiency.

"Something's over here," said Rupert suddenly, tapping a decaying wall. A hollow sound came from beyond it. The two shared a brief look before Rupert rammed a gloved fist through the drywall, pulling back sections of the plaster. Dust and powder flew out, caking Rupert, and despite the ominous discovery of a passage beyond the hole, Jodie couldn't help but smile at seeing Rupert's clean shaven head and Italian suit lightly dusted with powder.

The next thing to pass through the hole was Rupert's handcannon; its menacing barrel peeked into the depths as Jodie lent him her flashlight, the cone of light barely piercing the darkness beyond.

Unlike the rest of the fraying building, the hallway beyond the wall was clean, almost immaculate. Someone had been taking care of this section.

"Let's go," said Rupert. "Stay close, and watch our flank."

"This is incredible," whispered Jodie. "Not a single one of these rooms is on the blueprints," she added.

"Maybe we should have started here after all," grunted Rupert, his eyes focused on the dim darkness ahead.

"It still looks deserted, though," offered Jodie. "Should we call Pierce and Maeda and let them know what we've found?"

"What have we found," countered Rupert. "Dust? A hidden section under a building that used to perform abortions? Nothing here is out of the ordinary just yet, and I want those two focused on making an antibody should this virus spiral out of control."

Jodie nodded rather than replied, agreeing with him but feeling no urgent desire to voice it. Men like Rupert fed off of such agreements, and she didn't want to be just another foot soldier in this game.

"Holy mother of God," breathed Rupert as he came around the next corner, his handgun lowering.

"What is it," asked Jodie, herself coming to see what had stunned a man who had seen practically everything there was to see.

A monstrous lab sprawled before them, larger than MIST's entire headquarters. Dim, green lights ran the entire length of the room, casting everything under a jade-like lighting. Canisters the size of office water coolers ran on opposite sides of the steel walkway, the hundreds of containers holding embryos and unborn fetuses. They shook with the occasion bubbles that they were fed by the network of tubes and cables, capable of dwarfing a telephone company's central hub.

"They must have been at this for years," said Rupert. "But how is it still running?"

Jodie opened her mouth to say something when she noticed something amongst the mass of wires above her. At first it looked simply like one of the larger tubes swaying with the liquid pressure, but when she saw the pale, grinning face above it, she raised her shotgun with a yell.

Too late it came, as the face descended towards her, gliding in a swift thrust of silent motion that not only knocked Jodie back, but dragged her dozens of feet. The poor girl was out the moment that Rupert turned, his handcannon raised.

"Don't move," grunted Rupert, the barrel of his new Maeda Special leveled at her chest. "Don't make me do it, Risa."

"You still can't pull the trigger, can you," she said, pushing Jodie gently aside. "Jodie would have, you know. She would have killed me and not thought twice about it. But you…you Rupert, a trained killer, so thirsty for vengeance, and you can't do it. Why?"

"If you hurt her, I will," he said, deliberately cocking the hammer.

"Your hand is shaking," she said, a trace of sadness in her voice. "That makes me so happy, you know, that my life still means something to you," she added, looking at her mechanical arm. "What is left of it, that is."

"I know you're pregnant, Risa," he said, lowering his gun. "Was it…?"

She laughed bitterly. "You mean was it after us," she asked. "It is not what you think, Rupert," she said, her hand wandering to her stomach. "No…this was the brainchild of the monsters that locked me away her, with dozens of other women, dehumanizing us; first by implanting us with cloned embryos and then with robotic body parts."

"You mean…all this time…?"

She nodded. "There was no biological father to the child within me, this child trapped for years in my womb, the only part of me that was allowed to remain human. You see, these embryos, cloned from a dead woman, granted some of us certain abilities."

"Maya," breathed Rupert.

"Maya," whispered Risa reverently. "That's a good name…a mother's name. I doubt that made any difference to the men seeking to exploit the…side effects of the procedure."

"I'm sorry, Risa," he said. Was there anything else a person could say?

"Kind of funny, isn't it," she asked darkly. "That I would have to give up everything that meant life just to have one grow within me?"

"It's not funny," said Rupert, hearing the sadness behind her words. "You deserved better, Risa, no different than anyone else. You risked your life to protect others, and you only got this to show for it. That's not fair, and I know it. But we have to stop this now, before it gets out of hand."

"Stop this," she asked, her eyes narrowing. "These babies need to be born, Rupert. They just need someone to give them a chance."

"Spreading your vector virus across the planet, killing every man, woman, and child, is not giving anyone a chance!"

"I am not like my creators," she sighed. "Though I may look like a monster, I am not one…the virus, too, is not what it may outwardly seem."

"What do you mean? I saw it turn Brecklin into a monster…! After you killed him, of course."

"I did not kill him," she said bluntly. "He keeled over from a heart attack the moment he saw me," she smiled, the memory fondly in her thoughts. "Guilty conscience, I suppose." She paused. "As for the receiver…that was encoded," she admitted. "Using a matrix he once devised, to affect others," she added with a pause. "It was only fitting that it would be used against him, to make his last moments utter agony."

"But the vector imprints…they turn anyone into monsters, don't they?"

She shook her head. "If that's what they were encoded for; I have no such ambition to spread such a disease, to cripple the world."

"Then what does yours do?"

"It makes the world habitable for my babies," she replied. "That's all."

"By killing everyone else?"

She chuckled. "I am no comic book villain, Rupert," she said. "The virus affects airborne micro-organisms, and makes them less hostile to the weak, the newborn. Should these castoffs ever be born, they would surely die from the world as we have it, with pollution, disease, waste…the virus I have encoded only erodes that which hurts life. The virus you fear so much will only save lives."

Jodie lay in a heap, her lungs still burning, but her ears stood in attention, hearing every word that Risa said. Could it be true? Could all their worries have been for nothing? If what Risa said was true, she deserved their sympathy, not their anger. To be forcibly impregnated, the flesh and bones broken and sawed away to replace with mechanical limbs…she shuddered. No woman should have to endure that.

And though sympathy ran through every fiber of her body and tugged her every cord of her sympathetic heart, Jodie only hesitated a moment before she activated the homing beacon that Pierce had given her earlier.

--

Note: Sorry for the super delay, but as I've said before, this is to be my last fanfic. Dug this one up about halfway finished, and kind of threw a lot of elements together. Lots of familiarity to the story, I think, and maybe I've lost some of the character-specific focus that I first wanted, but I figure any addition to the shamefully small PE universe is a welcome one. Thank goodness a new one is coming out; can't wait!


	12. Answers

"Save lives," whispered Rupert. Could it be true, he wondered. Something in her words was so sincere, so earnest, that he could not deny the small hope growing in his heart. For had not his first son, born years and years ago, been lost at birth? Had not he and his wife struggled for years afterwards to have another, all the time fearing that familiar gut-wrenching heartbreak? And it had all been for nothing, he thought, holding her and their son's broken bodies in his arms.

"I do not seek to destroy this world, or any other," she continued. "Only to give these innocents a simple chance," she added, gesturing to the rows of test tube babies. "What of their chance to laugh and play? What of their lost opportunities?"

"These are test tubes, Risa, not your babies," he said, the words sour in his mouth. Part of him wondered if he believed them himself. Had he not seen the same motherly fire in her eyes as his late wife?

"But they are," she cried. "Each of these embryos was meant to be a life, meant to grow into something wonderful, full of hope and joy. That they did not come from my body does not matter; I am as much a mother to them as I can be, and found the importance of that. Just knowing that their lives are in your hands, that they count on you for everything…not just providing them with safety, but life lessons, and to drive away those who would wish them harm. Just like…just like…" She faltered. "The defenseless," she finally whispered.

"So Brecklin, and those others on the list…George, and Baldwin…were all a part of it?"

"Why else do you think I killed them," she asked, surprised by his question.

"For their connection to the vector virus, of course."

"Oh, that," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I have little care for their virus; only that it was appropriate they die by the hands of their pet project."

"Some would say that you were their pet project," said Rupert.

"And so they died at my hands, and their virus ensured their last moments were spent in absolute agony," she shot back. "Besides, only Brecklin was directly involved with what happened to me," she added. "Baldwin I killed for his role in sending me into that hell…and I don't know who this George person is."

"The man you shot," growled Rupert angrily. "In the back, as I spoke to him."

"A bullet in the back," she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You really think that's my style?"

Rupert could not help but acknowledge the truth to her words. He had seen her kill her enemies, all in gruesome, painful ways. He had seen her lord over their last moments, smugly gloating as their last breaths escaped them, and hell awaited. So if she hadn't killed George, then just who had?

For answers to questions, foreign and domestic, the place to go was Washington DC. Nowhere else in the world could so many people say so much and mean so little. Promises, earnest and heartfelt, could be as easily broken as a lunch reservation. Handshakes, warm and firm, that could just as easily held a knife with which to stab a friend in the back. But as a poet once mused, "a true friend stabs you in the front".

And it was no surprise, then, that so many learned and educated men in that particular arena could look in the mirror without hating what they saw. These men knew what they were, and embraced it. They accepted what their lives held, whether it be lies and deceit, or conspiracies and cover-ups.

Such was a place to go for answers, if one could wade through that quagmire of lies and red tape. Amidst this sprawling, historic city, like any other, there were many men and women seeking such guidance.

In an underground facility beneath Pennsylvania Avenue, a group of long-time staffers again sought the advice and guidance of one man; one man accustomed to such pressures.

"Mr. President," interrupted Jamison. "The item was extracted from Alpha Base an hour ago. Shouldn't we be preparing the SDI to wipe out the remaining infection area?"

"No, we shouldn't," sighed the President. "I have received information recently that brings to mind a greater risk; that Patient Zero of this outbreak is on the loose. We have Alpha well in hand; I want the SDI ready to deploy in a moment's notice."

"I heard of no such information," insisted Jamison.

"Nor has anyone here besides me," said the President curtly. "And that is how it is going to remain."

"But—"

"I may as well tell all of you this now; some of the information revealed in these meetings has been leaked. The only way that could happen was if there was a leak within this very room, or the people within it. Though it pains me to say it, there isn't a single one of you in here that I can fully trust right now."

The shocked faces returned to their stoic origins, each person silently appraising the person beside them. Mistrust had a way of surprising people, but its true strength lay in the suspicions that came after the revelation.

"As such," he continued, standing up. "None of you are allowed to leave this facility, nor contact an outside party, until the matter is resolved. For any emergency measures, all communications will be through myself alone. As you are all aware, I am fully within my rights to shut us in…unless anyone has a problem with that?"

Silence.

"Very well, then. As you are all aware, the situation has worsened with the results of our study of this vector virus. Perkins," he beckoned, to which the man turned on a projector. Charts and graphs flickered across the grainy screen, but few truly understood their underlying meaning.

"These numbers show our potential infection rate," began Perkins. "As you can see, this is projected to spread like wildfire, using airborne mutagens. Oddly, we've noticed a relevancy when it comes to broadcast signals—"

"It's related to airwaves," asked Jamison, instantly intrigued.

"The virus moves along the microwaves emitted by broadcast signals. Really, it only uses these signals as a type of rallying point."

"Rallying point? For what?"

"To gather and infect," replied Perkins. "This virus was designed to impact areas with any type of radio signal; whether it be television, phone, or radial."

"Population centers, to be exact," said the President. "What does it do, though?"

"That's even stranger," answered Perkins, changing the slide. "This virus could be calibrated to do almost anything to the human DNA, but it does almost nothing."

"Almost?"

"It slightly alters the external carbon dioxide we produce when we exhale, and other small factors, such as pollens, dusts, etc. Basically, it makes the air we breathe…cleaner."

"Improving the environment," said Jamison slowly. "Eco-terrorists?"

"Possibly," replied Perkins. "But while this is well-intentioned, it could still be disastrous…"

"How so?"

"It would reduce every human being's immune system by making the air cleaner. We would become weaker as time went, in which case a flu epidemic could start killing people off by the millions."

"Meaning…if this current virus won't kill us, another one down the road will."

"I don't understand," said Rupert. "You think improving the air will help these…babies?"

"It will," said Risa. "I witnessed one birth while I was locked away here; only one of us was able to carry her child to term. She died, and her baby a moment later. I was there, Rupert," she said softly. "I held that baby in my hands as it choked on its first and last breath. Have you any idea how that feels, to see life extinguished before it's even given a chance, born to a mother without choice?"

Rupert nodded. He had seen many difficult things in his life, and had experienced even worse ones. He had seen his only child and his wife buried, with no one to hold accountable. He had not only seen injustice; he had lived it.

"You have no idea what your virus will do to the rest of the world, though, Risa," he insisted. "It may sound good, but that's how the Neo-Ark started; promising everyone good things, great things even, without thought of consequence."

"They were run by maggots," she spat. "Interests in business, cash flow, political influence. Who has any greater of a wish for her children than a mother?"

"Your heart is in the right place, as it always was," said Rupert softly. "But this world cannot be changed by the will of one person alone." And when he turned to her, his eyes were hard and his gun was raised. But to Risa's surprise, it was not leveled at her chest, instead at the bank of tubes beside her.

"I am hardly even a person anymore," said Risa, suddenly pensive. "I may not be what most would even call 'human', but when I look at these rows of life, I think I know what it means to be a mother. I struggle to remember my past, happy or sad, but I can never know it again. But when I stand here, before these babies, I finally realize that my pain does not matter, that any suffering can be endured. Only these tiny, fragile lives matter. I suppose that is the closest thing to motherhood a monster like me shall ever know. So when you aim that weapon at them, it is worse than aiming it at my heart, Rupert. If you must kill someone to sate your vengeance, then let it be me."

Something in Rupert took over; it wasn't burning hot anger like he thought it would be. No, it was a cold, sinister purpose that stole over him and struck his arm like a channeling rod. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was raised, the cannon aimed at a face he once found great beauty in, perhaps even loved.

--

Note: this section was the one that caused my hang-up with this story. The whole confrontation scene between Risa and Rupert was just too much in terms of what I wanted it to say and what came out. In other words, I wasn't writing as well as I should have, and I knew it the whole time. But you gotta keep plugging away sometimes, and this was the result of that. Not what I might have liked it to be, but a close enough approximation. The plot I had first envisioned might come a little unraveled in these parts, but I hope you still see a bit of what I wanted to come through.


	13. Flight

The radio chatter blared obnoxiously over the racket of the helicopter, but Aya still had no idea what was being said. The words came out coated in static, utterly drowned out by whipping of the chopper blades overhead. Despite the lack of knowledge regarding the situation, however, she couldn't help but feel at complete peace aboard the airship, the dark ocean rolling below them.

"First time in a chopper," asked one of the men with a smile.

"Quite a sight, isn't it," added another, this one eyeing her up and down.

Aya shrugged to them both, pretending she couldn't hear them over the chopper's engine. The boys in the unit were barely out of their teens, despite their perceived excellence in the battlefield. The way she figured it, though, they were probably adept at killing enemies who were equally young and clueless. If they were to face a real opponent, those sneering egos would go to the wayside, along with their lives.

"What's our ETA," yelled the captain, looking at his soldiers with disdain. While Agent Brea had excelled at her task, it only made him realize how useless his men were.

"Another hour to shore, sir," yelled back one of the pilots, when the console began to flicker, and explosions erupted around them, shaking the chopper.

"What is that," cried one of the men, grasping a nearby handle.

"We're under attack, it seems," growled the captain. "Get on that M2, sergeant," he yelled, as the door flew open. Bullets began to fly as he relayed the rest of his orders.

Aya took in this sudden outburst quietly, studying the men around her. While they were handling the situation adequately, something about it did not seem right to her. And when the captain leaned towards her, her suspicions mounted.

"Hand me the case," he ordered, his other hand on the butt of his sidearm. "There's no time to lose."

"Where do you think I'm going," replied Aya, making no move to hand it over. "If this chopper goes down, aren't we all in a bit of trouble?"

"Listen, bitch," said the Captain, pushing the barrel of his gun into her face. "As far as I'm concerned, you've done your part of the mission. Now…I'm in charge. If that case were to be lost, it would be my head, not yours…unless you want it to be," he added, reminding her of the gun pointed at her head.

"Maybe it should," said Aya carefully. "But then, I guess the case would have to be lost first, right," she added, turning and suddenly tossing the steel briefcase out the door and into the ocean below. "Oops," she grinned to the Captain's paling face.

"After it," he yelled, and his men leapt without hesitation, all focused on the floating steel box and the rolling waves.

That moment gave Aya the time she needed to turn back and shove the Captain out with his men, into the frigid waters below. Closing the door, she sidled into the front seat beside the pilot, the only other person remaining in the helicopter.

"I'm thinking we need to get out of here, and fast," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Don't you agree?"

He nodded, dazzled as if by a brilliant light, and the chopper banked left before flying away. Behind them, the explosions ceased, and her suspicions were confirmed.

"So that was all a setup to get the case, huh," she said, and the pilot nodded mindlessly. "Well, I guess they're not going to like this then," she added, fingering the files and tapes she had taken from the briefcase hours earlier. She was certainly glad none of them had thought of opening the case earlier.

--

This was meant as an "interlude" for the story, but with my shortening of so many things, this will have to stand on its own. I think I may have to rewrite the next section, so it may be awhile before I add anything else.


End file.
